


Pick Your Poison

by TheAvianDragon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, Slow burn? More like I'm slowly burning, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no seriously, this is killing me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvianDragon/pseuds/TheAvianDragon
Summary: In the Galra empire, free will is all but nonexistent, you do what is asked of you and never question authority. So, when Keith is given an order to infiltrate the Altean castle and assassinate Princess Allura by any means necessary, he can't do anything but humbly accept. It's not like he was ever given a choice in the first place.Lance has been a servant in that very castle for as long as he can remember. Don’t get him wrong, he wouldn't trade his job for the world, but he still can't help but long for more. He knows there has to be more to life then cleaning day in and day out and he's determined to find it.When Keith is thrown headfirst into Altean culture and forced to work alongside Lance, he learns a few key things about his new co-worker. He's kind, chatty, loud and far too inquisitive for Keith's comfort. Suddenly, hiding his past from Lance may be harder than it first appeared.





	1. The Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this story is a collaboration with the amazing [inspiration-rain](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/)  
> I've been writing the whole story, and Ren has been amazing with art and spit balling ideas with me!! So, onward with the actual story!

Cold water rushes out from the open tap, the perfectly clear water turning a dull grey the second it hits Keith's hands. He flinches but rubs at his split knuckles anyway, the burning sensation quickly melting into the numbness he's so used to. The water swirls down into the drain, creating whirlpools of blood and soot as Keith continues to desperately scrub his palms. He's only making things worse, but he can't seem to stop. His fingernails are chipped and broken, only drawing more blood with each swipe over his hand. 

He turns off the tap, finally leaving his battered hands alone. The bleeding comes to a slow stop, his blood clotting as scabs start to form around the edges of his broken skin. He wipes the excess blood on his pants, not caring much or appearances. It's not like it's a noticeable amount anyway. He places his hands on either side of the sink and sighs deeply, looking at himself in the fogged mirror.

He stares into his bloodshot eyes, massive bags hanging under his eyelids. He'd like to say he remembers a time where his violet eyes were vibrant and full of life, but he can't. He's looked worse, that's for sure... but, that doesn't mean he looks great. Not by a long shot. With a final sigh he turns away from the mirror, not able to stare at the amalgamation of himself for a second longer. 

He steps out into his room, his eyes trailing over Lance's mess of a bed as he passes it. He drops to his knees by his bed, pain rocketing through him as he does so. He doesn't even flinch this time. The area under his bed is damp and dusty, each and every object shrouded in shadows. He reaches under his bed, pulling out the small box at the very back. He places it on his lap and takes one more look around the room out of pure habit. He slowly opens it, exhaling slowly when the familiar purple glow slips through the cracks of the box. Inside is a small square of fabric, stained with ink and littered with messy writing, the corners stained a dull maroon that was once a vibrant blood red.

His hand lightly grazes over the leather wrapped handle, the stitching unraveling in the corners from extensive use. The metal itself is spotless, not a single scratch present on its surface. A small purple gem is in the center of the knife. It produces a dull glow that coats the box in a purple light, coating part of the room in a faded light as it glows. Keith glances at the fabric lying on his palm again, single pieces of string starting to fray off at the edges.

**_You have four months. If you don’t do this, someone else will. Do not screw this up, you know the consequences._ **

The Galra has never been one for subtlety, the dried bloodstains that marked the fabric being a clear indication of that fact. Keith sighs and slowly wraps the blade back up, placing it back into the box with a soft thud. Keith shifts the objects under his bed around, making sure to hide the box as far back as he can as he slides the box back into it's hiding place.

“Keith? You in here?” There’s a small knock at the door as Lance walks into the room, a smile picking up on the corners of his lips when he sees Keith kneeling by his bed. Keith still doesn’t understand why Lance always knocks before entering. It’s not like this is _Keith’s_ room; him and Lance share after all. The second Lance enters the room, it's like a switch is flipped and Keith slips into his persona.

“Oh, hey,” Keith says, pushing himself up off the ground, smiling at his 'friend'.

“Princess Allura wants us,” Lance says as he gestures behind him, pointing his thumb as he throws his hand over his shoulder. “We’ve got to finish cleaning the ballroom.” Right, servant duties.

“Okay… just, give me a sec.” Keith bends down, taking out his worn out and tattered shoes. He should probably send a request in for a new pair sometime soon. He pulls them over his feet, ignoring the sting of pain that shoots through him as the fabric pulls on the scratches and scabs on the back on his ankle as it awkwardly rubs against them with each step.

Keith walks through the halls, idly talking with Lance as he takes in the sights around him. He probably won’t ever get used to how lavish the castle was, how much luxury the princess lives in. The walls are simplistic: polished wood with banners displaying the royal family crest hanging from them. Long stained-glass windows reach from the ground to the ceiling, the intricate patterns causing rainbows of light to shine through, making the whole castle glow in a multitude of colors from dusk till dawn. Each hallway is lined with red rugs, trimmed with a golden silk that’s also embroidered into patterns on the rug, overlapping as they intermingle, swirling and twisting as they collide. The ceiling curve into massive arches, expensive (and excessive) chandeliers hanging from the peak of each arch, the diamonds that hang reflecting the light from the windows around the room. God, the castle is the most magnificent thing he has ever seen in his life.

Keith has a job to do, one that isn’t cleaning ballrooms, tending to the horses and administering to the princess’s needs. He wishes it was, but that isn’t his life, it never will be. Keith is an assassin, someone under the control of the Galra Kingdom sent to kill Princess Allura. This is his first big job, if he can pull this off… the Galra may finally let him live in peace. A life without daily beatings and starvation sounds like paradise. If some blood has to be shed to get there, so be it.

The Galra kingdom is the closest neighboring kingdom. They’ve always been in a feud with Altea, which only got worse when King Alfor was killed in battle by none other than Emperor Zarkon, someone who he was once a close ally. And now, the princess is the Galra's next target, the current ruler of the kingdom of Altea. She’s unmarried and doesn’t have an heir as of yet, meaning if she were to have a fatal accident, the kingdom would be left without a ruler and would be ripe for the taking. It’s easier said than done.

Keith’s goal was to sneak into the castle, kill the princess in her sleep and slip back out under the cover of darkness… emphasis on _was_ . You see, Keith didn’t even get remotely close to sneaking into the castle on his first try, not because he was busted, no. He was _invited_ into the castle.

As a lowly servant to Zarkon, Keith wasn’t given the luxuries such as clean clothing, regular bathing periods and even sufficient food. Keith was stick thin back then. His ribs had poked out from under his skin, his legs were frail and he was always drowsy. His skin used to be tight and thin, the veins underneath clear whenever you looked at him, and the pale flesh tinted a permanent grey from his malnutrition and the dirt that covered him at all times. They were dark days for him, times when he wasn’t sure if he’d wake up the next day. Honestly, sometimes he didn’t want to.

By some miracle the princess stumbled upon his campsite on one of her daily strolls, Keith would have killed her then and there if it wasn’t for the royal guard watching him from a few metres away, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. “You poor thing.” Keith remembers her saying to him as she bent down to meet his eyes, it was almost patronising, the idea that he was something to be pitied. “You must come back with me to the castle. You shall work under my command and be given a place to stay, food to eat, water to drink and safety.” It wasn’t even a question now that he thinks back to it. She never actually asked if he wanted to go back with her, simply saying that he would.

Keith has never been one to count his blessings, but not only was he getting a suspicion-free way into the castle. No, the princess would have her guard lowered around him AND he’d be getting pampered in a castle? It was perfect in every way he could imagine. Keith had quickly put his weight back on, his body going back to a healthy level of muscle and fat, his bones no longer popping out from under his skin, and his skin went back to his usual pinkish colour, not the dead grey he had grown used to.

He was given new clothes and shown to the common area where he slept for the first few nights, five to six red velvet couches all circled around a table which was directly in front of a large fireplace. Keith remembers running his hand along the fabric of the couch. It was softer and more expensive than anything Keith had ever even seen in his life, let alone been permitted to sleep on. In the dead of the night when he was sure all sounds of activity around the castle had ceased, he got up and walked down the hall, then down a flight of stairs into something that reminded him of a dungeon. It was clear it hadn’t been used in years and had fallen into a state of disrepair. The stone bricks were cracked and crumbling, spiderwebs littering every nook and cranny, and the only sound he could hear was the quiet clacking of his shoes as he walked along the stone path, along with an occasional squeak of a mouse.

It was pitch black in the catacombs, the only light being the occasionally flickering torch that was hung up on the wall. He studied a map before setting off at his journey. His plan was to take a left turn at the fork coming up, walking up a flight of stairs which led him to the hall outside of Princess Allura’s room. It was an indirect way to her, so it should have been the quietest. It _should_ have been

Keith heard a set of footsteps behind him, and spun around to see nothing but the black hall behind him. A small white mouse scampered past his feet and into the a hole in the wall next to him. Keith grabbed the torch off the adjacent wall and continued on his way. As he was swinging the torch around to light up the area in front of him, embers fell from the wood and drifted down to his feet. Keith sighed and continued on his way pulling his hood up further with his free hand and tried to shake off the bad vibe this area was giving him.

Suddenly there was a hand on his back, a stone grip on his hood as he was yanked backwards. His entire body fell back towards the stranger as he slammed into someone’s chest, which knocked the air out of his lungs.

He was spun around by his shoulders, the force causing his hood to fall from his head. He looked into the stranger’s eyes as he stared back, the both of them taking in each other’s features as they did nothing but stare. The boy was objectively attractive, his skin was tan and blemish free, his short brown hair tousled around his face, framing his features perfectly. His shoulders were broad, his legs long and arms clearly muscular, even under the baggy shirt he wore. However, the stranger’s appearance wasn’t Keith’s priority, not by a long shot. No, he was too busy worrying about how much trouble he was in, how he was likely to be beheaded.. His worries were only pilling up when he heard the stranger whisper out a small “I knew it.”

In hindsight Keith should've know that he wasn’t in fact busted, but he didn’t know anything about Lance back then, and he couldn’t help but think about all of the horrific things that the stranger was going to do to him. Was he going to turn him in? Beat him within an inch of his life? Somehow let him off with a warning? _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit and SHIT. He was so utterly busted._

“You really think I didn’t notice something was off about you when you walked in?” the stranger whispered again, snapping Keith out of his spiral. “You think that hood was going to stop me from finding out?”

“What are you talking about?” Keith managed to keep his voice reasonably calm throughout the conversation, which was a rather big achievement considering how much he was internally freaking out within that moment.

The stranger shot his arm out, pointing at Keith with a satisfied look on his face. “You have a mullet!” he declared. That was the first time he met Lance. It wasn’t how Keith imagined it would have gone, though, it’s not like he could picture Lance catching him in the dungeons going any differently. It’s not exactly your everyday scenario.

Within a week of moving into the castle, Keith was transferred into the west wing servant dorm, which Lance just so happened to be staying in.

Keith quickly grew closer to Lance, he wouldn’t call it friendship… more of a mutual respect between acquaintances. Yeah, that’s what they are. Regardless, Keith learnt a few key things about Lance.

  1. He’s extremely close to the princess - Note:  Possible way to get to her?
  2. He’s a goofball who lets his guard down pretty often.
  3. He’s a servant just like Keith, but he’s a servant by choice. Apparently he likes the castle and is more of a friend to Allura if anything.



While what he learnt in his first few weeks at the castle wasn’t what he was looking for ideally, he could work with it. After all, any information can be helpful information - that’s Galra 101.

And well, that brings him to where he is today, walking down the hall as Lance jokes around about anything that comes to mind.

When Keith pushes open the ballroom doors, he’s greeted with the sight of mice scuttling around on the floor - the very mice Allura refuses to let Keith remove from the castle. Apparently they’re peaceful creatures that she enjoys the company off… whatever that means. Keith sighs loudly when he notices the thick layers of dust covering the chandeliers and the grime on the windows. The mice scurry into holes all around the castle, disappearing from sight the second the massive ballroom doors swing open.

“Let’s get to work!” Lance exclaims as he steps into the room, clearly unfazed by the mess. 

Keith can't decided what's worse, cleaning this mess, or clearing it with  _lance._ Keith hasn’t been able to escape Lance from day one in this castle, and it doesn’t seem like his luck is going to change anytime soon. “Yeah, okay. I’m coming," Keith says, walking into the room after Lance. 


	2. “Cleaning”

“You know, as a teen when I thought about having someone's thighs wrapped around my head, this is not what I pictured,” Lance so astutely says from underneath Keith, blabbering away as Keith tries with all of his might not to fall face first onto the ground and drag Lance down with him. However, the idea of Lance hitting the ground with a satisfying thud is quickly becoming more and more inviting.

The chandeliers on the ceiling are hung up by ropes attached to a pulley system, the idea was that they could be lowered to the ground for easy cleaning and then pulled back up again once cleaned… in theory. The issue is the rope got caught about three-quarters of the way down, leaving practically everything part -- par a single diamond that really just seemed to be there to mock him -- out of Keith's reach.

The responsible course of action would have been to inform Coran of the broken chandelier, get it fixed and then clean it as normal. That may be the responsible (and correct) course of action, but it's not the one Keith and Lance chose.

They, instead, decided the correct course of action was for Keith to climb Lance like a damn tree and sit on his shoulders. This, of course, lead to the utterly ridiculous sight of Keith perched on Lance's shoulders, holding the chandelier with one had as he scrubs with the other; all while Lance stands there with his hands on Keith's legs, trying to hold him in place while they clean.

“Can’t you shut up for like five minutes? I can’t focus,” Keith says as he gently rubs small circles around one of the hanging diamonds with his washcloth. “This is ridiculous…” Keith mutters under his breath, kicking Lance with his left leg, signaling for him to step to the side.

“Honestly, not the weirdest thing I’ve done.” Does Keith even want to know? Probably not. Keith kicks Lance in the chest, signaling for him to step back. He knows for a fact that he kicked Lance harder than he needed to, but, Lance doesn't need to know that. “Are you done? Because my neck is starting to cramp the fuck up,” Lance groans as he throws his head back, Keith instantly wrapping his arms around Lance’s neck to stop himself from falling backwards. 

“Yeah, yeah, lemme just-” Keith slowly slides down off Lance’s shoulders, awkwardly wrapping his legs around his waist, inching down slowly. Keith jumps the rest of the way, letting go so he hits the ground with a small grunt. “-Okay. So, what else do we need to do?”

Lance groans loudly and leans back dramatically, bending his knees as he looks up at the roof, making his thoughts abundantly clear. Lance leans forwards again, straightening his posture so he can look at Keith with an annoyed look, not directed towards him of course. “I forget you’re still new here.” Lance crosses his arms over his chest.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in the castle knows how lavish the Princess’s balls are,” Lance says. “Everyone but _you_. This always takes weeks of cleaning, cooking and general preparations.” Lance lists off countess chores, Keith’s face dropping with every point on the list. He started zoning out around the fifteenth point, Lance's voice quickly blurring into white noise as his mind drifts elsewhere. “-So, we’ve probably got to go look after the horses after that,” Lance finishes.

“Horses?” Keith can’t hide the excitement in his voice. He didn’t know the castle had any animal besides the mice - and Keith is beyond sick of the mice. The idea of a horse, a free running, soft yet strong horse makes Keith smile; widely too.

“Yes, horses. The princess has a few of them, and they’re kept in the stable around the back of the castle. I’m not surprised you haven’t seen them yet.” Lance jabs his thumb behind him, pointing out the window which overlooked a forest of trees, a small path carved through the middle. So Keith wasn’t crazy when he swore he heard whinnying at night. The path is dark even in the day, the tall oak trees casting long shadows over the path, shrouding everything in a thick blanket of darkness.

“And we get to take care of them?” Keith tries to sound casual, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back, jutting his hip out as he puts on a bored tone, his voice cracking occasionally at the excitement coursing through him. He had always wanted to see a horse, a real horse. Only the rich could afford such a luxury, and being a bastard orphan such as himself, he never got the chance. He always thought horses were such majestic creatures. They held such grace yet so much power in their stride. An animal that could easily buck someone off, but chose not to.

“Of course, but we’ve got one more thing to do.” Lance bends over and pulls out four brushes. They're wooden with simple plastic bristles, a leather strap on either side of the wood to create a handles to slip your hand under. “We’ve got to scrub down the floor,” He says, passing two of the brushes to him, Lance walks over to a cupboard in one of the corners, walking back over with a large bucket filled with warm, soapy water.

Keith looks around the room, it's  _massive._ This'll take days to clean, even with Lance's help. Keith silently curses under his breath, dropping down next to the bucket with his brush in hand.  _They have to wash this entire place by hand_. Man, Allura better feed them **well** tonight. 

Keith dips his brush into the bucket as he begins to scrub the floor in straight lines. He scrubs back and forth in a pattern, watching as the floor is slowly covered by thick soapy suds. Slowly the sounds of brushes against the floor fill the room, the scrubbing echoing against the wall. Keith wipes a line of sweat off his brow as he scrubs harder, panting quietly under his breath as his whole body shifts back and forth with each push and pull of his brush. 

Two brushes slip across the ballroom floor, zooming past Keith's field of vision. Soon laughter interlaces with the sound of Keith's scrubbing, eventually drowning it out completely as it drifts around the room, originating from a different point with each passing second. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith says, snapping his head up with an annoyed huff. The room is covered in a thick layer of bubbles, a single stream twisting and turning around the room with no clear pattern or direction. Keith unconsciously follows the streaks of bubbles, his eyes follow each twist, turn and loop the stream takes for no particular reason. Eventually he spots the source. And, of course, Lance is responsible for it.

However, instead of resting on his hands and knees, scrubbing like Keith expected, he's standing in the middle on the ballroom. Actually no, he's not just standing in the middle of the ballroom, he's standing on his  _brushes_. His feet are wedged under the leather strap, as he stands there proudly, brandishing is like some kind of shoe. 

“What does it look like?” Lance twirls and pushes with his left leg, sending him across the ballroom as a smile works it ways on his lips. “Cleaning!” he finishes. While it is without a doubt the weirdest method of cleaning Keith has ever seen, it’s actually rather efficient. Most of the room is already covered in thick bubbles as Lance glides.

Keith finds himself staring, watching as Lance gracefully moves around the room, the sound of him humming to imaginary music echoing off the walls. His long, tan arms wrap around himself, one hand around his waist and the other behind his head, he points out his leg and spins around once, his arms reaching towards the sky as he twists again. Keith’s mouth is parted slightly, his hands completely stopping as he watches in awe.

Lance reaches out to an imaginary partner, the humming growing louder as he pretends to twirl them, his hands hovering where their waist would be, taking small steps back and forth. His humming slowing grows into singing as Spanish spills from his lips. Keith feels chills run through his body like lightning shocks when the music reaches his ears, it is slightly off key, but amazing in the same way. It’s genuine and real, full of emotion as he continues to step in time to his quiet singing.

It's... intoxicating. It's like nothing he's ever seen before. Each movement is graceful, his body delicately gliding across the room as if he was weightless. It's alien to him, something that so starkly contrasts against everything he's ever known. There's no power in his movements, no clear plan or end goal... no purpose. Keith is so used to fighting, where each movement has a specific purpose, where each punch and kick holds every single ounce of energy you can muster. 

It doesn't make any sense, and yet, he can't look away. 

Lance's eyes finally land on Keith, he smiles widely and skates over to him, bending down slightly as he holds out his hand. Keith snaps out of his Lance-induced-daze, blinking a few times in shock before frantically shaking his head. “No – I can’t - I mean I’ve never tried - I mean, I don't even know what it is…” Keith rambles out excuses as Lance rolls his eyes and steps closer, still sliding on the brushes strapped to his feet.

“It’s just me,” Lance says, gently grabbing Keith’s hands to pull him to his feet. “No one else will see how badly I kick your butt at this,” Lance says, the teasing somehow melting away at least some of Keith's nerves. Keith rolls his eyes as he grips Lance’s hands tightly, using him as support as he slips his feet into the brushes, mirroring Lance. Slowly Keith can feel the brushes pushing against the polished wood, his body somehow feeling lighter as he feed hover above the ground.

“Just follow my lead,” Lance says as he slowly slides back, his hands gripping Keith’s wrists, pulling Keith with him. On instinct Keith grips Lance tighter, his knuckles going white as he clings for dear life. This is a horrible idea, this is some kind of fucked up torture. He's going to fall and die. He pulls Lance closer on instinct, not caring about appearances as his heart hammers in his chest, his feet constantly slipping out from under him as he tries to keep at least some semblance of control. 

Keith can’t help the words that slip out of his mouth. “What is this?” he asks, trying to copy Lance as he drags him around, two trails of bubbles intertwining behind them. Lance is doing all of the work as he drags Keith around, controlling their movements as they dance together. Keith simply lets himself be dragged around the room, relying on Lance to do whatever he's doing while  _he_ tries to not fall flat on his butt.

Lance stumbles, momentarily as his eyes widen. He quickly shakes it off and picks his pace back up, his expression still dumbfounded as he stares at Keith “You don’t know what dancing is?” Keith shakes his head, messily following behind Lance. His body is completely stiff, mostly through fear and partly through clear lack of 'rhythm', he simply holds none of the grace that Lance exudes with each movement.

“Dancing?” Keith parrots back, the world lying heavy on his tongue, mispronunciation thick in his voice.

“Jeez, what did you even do before Allura brought you here?” Lance is clearly joking, but there’s an aura of genuine curiosity behind it. Keith stiffens up further, memories of daily beatings, mockery and humiliation flooding back in waves. When you cleaned back in the Galra empire, you clean until it positively shines, until your hands are bloody and beaten from the work, until you pass out from exhaustion. If he was found doing anything but scrubbing desperately, he’d get whipped. Long red scars run down his back, constant reminders of the cruelty of the Galra.

Something cold washes over him, this is wrong,  _so wrong_. What will Allura do if she finds them... will he be starved for not working hard enough? He should get back to working, this place isn't clean enough yet. It's not clean enough.  _It's not clean enough._

Lance pulls Keith forward again, pulling him out of his spiral before it really starts. The unanswered question hangs in the air, both boys pushing it aside for different reasons. Lance starts humming again, this time quiet enough just for Keith to hear. They dance for a few more minutes, before he even knows what's happening Keith can feel his body slowly loosening up. The room is well and truly clean now, neither of them really have a reason to be 'cleaning' anymore, but neither of them notice all the same.

“I’m going to spin you now,” Lance whispers in Keith’s ear, the words registering too late.

“Wait, wha- LANCE!” Keith exclaims before Lance grips his hand tighter, spinning him away with his arm, both of them standing away from each other for a split second, their arms outstretched as they pant. Before Keith can retaliate, again he’s being pulled back in, colliding with Lance’s chest with a loud oomph. 

Keith is about to move when the brush under his left foot slips out, rocketing across the room as his bare food collides with the ground. He back of his heel slips against the slick floor, a loud gasp ripping from him as he falls back, grabbing Lance’s white dress shirt out of instinct. It all happens too fast, Lance’s arms wrapping around his waist, Keith’s arms around Lance’s shoulders, their bodies pushed together by the force of them both grabbing each other. Their noses are almost touching as they stare at each other in shock, Keith dipped towards the ground with one leg in the air as they pant and stare at each other.

“I – Uh… Nice save,” Keith says, they blink at each other, trying to work out what he's supposed to do, seconds feeling like hours as they stare at each other. Is there some kind of protocol for when someone catches you while dancing? Lance suddenly stands up, pulling Keith with him as he pushes himself away, his face flushes a bright pink. He coughs loudly and straightens up, trying to act calm (and failing miserably, mind you)

“Y-yeah, thanks.” Lance nods, running his hands through his hair as he clears his throat. Keith nods sharply as another silent thank you. With that he bends down and slips the brush off his other foot, carefully walking across the slippering floor as he makes his way across to his other brush/shoe/danger to public saftey. He silently packs up the room, leaving the floors to dry as he picks up the now discarded buckets. 

Only as he makes his way across the room, a bucket in each hand, does he notice that Lance hasn't moved for the past five minutes. His face is flushed a deep red, his lip caught between his bottom lips as he stares wide-eyed at the ground. Is it weird to say he almost looks like he's silently screaming?

Yeah, that's probably weird.

Then again, Lance is kinda weird, so, anything's possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too.


	3. Horse riding

The streets are busy, people rush along the stone paths as they try to get to wherever they need to be. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get anything meaningful done in this town. The sound of chatter fills the air as groups of people pass each other, merchants haggle with their customers as police chase down thieves (which is a common occurrence in the poorer districts). The sound is almost deafening, most people have to yell to communicate, which in turn leads to the sound only growing.

Hundreds of people walk through the streets throughout the day, countless faceless figures passing in a blur, forgotten the second they’re out of sight. Two of which are a bit more special; a common pastry chef and inventor. They’re a young techie (who looks much younger than they actually are), and a large dark-skinned man, who had a strong build thanks to the bags of flour he lugs around day in and day out.

The youngest of the two - Pidge, worked with their father a few years ago, until they moved a few towns over for a massive project with their brother. They haven’t heard from them since. The bigger of the two - Hunk, is a baker, a man who’s known throughout the small town for his pastries and kindness. At the end of every day he’d give out the leftover food to the poorer people in his district, opening them with welcome arms; no matter their appearance.

The two are close friends - colleagues actually. When Pidge lost contact with their family, they moved in with Hunk, working in his bakery to improve his ovens, displays, machinery, and more. It’s a good system, and the two grew closer because of it. Working in a small town, you learn interesting things… especially when that town loves to gossip.

As he’d wrap up a loaf of bread, he’d hear someone briefly mention an assassination that’s being planned by Lotor, throwing it over their shoulder like it wasn’t anything important. He heard it again and again, whispers on the street about who the target may be; who the assassin was; why he wanted someone dead; and even more outlandish theories.

Eventually, the target was usually assumed to be to the princess, no one – including the majesty herself - seemed to pay any mind to it though. There had been rumours like that for years, and nothing had ever happened. Why would something change now?

Pidge is sitting on the counter, tinkering with their latest invention; it’s a small set of gears that they’d attach to Hunks clock. The idea is that when the clock hit a designated time, the gears would fall and set off a loud bell. It’d stop Hunk from having to sit by the oven and watch as every second ticked by.

“Off!” Hunk orders as he holds a large metal tray, steam wafting off the cupcakes sitting in the beat-up tray. Pidge jumps down, not looking away from her gears as they continue to make changes to their design. Hunk drops the tray down with a satisfied sigh, he pulls off his mittens and places them next to the tray, smiling at the perfect cakes.

“Perfect again!” Pidge yells, not so subtly buttering him up so they could sneak a cupcake or two. Without looking he slaps their hand away, his head buried in the cupboards underneath the bench as he looks for the right ingredients.

“They’re not iced yet, and even then, you’re not getting any,” Hunk mumbles as he places a few bags of sugar on the bench, Pidge’s eyes light up when their eyes trail over the ingredients, recognizing the recipe. “These are for a customer that ordered precisely twenty-four! You can’t eat a single one!” Usually Hunk would let Pidge try a bit of what he's making, to make sure it;s up to his usual standards, but this time he can't.

“Right, right.” Pidge waves him off, pretending that they don't actually want the cupcakes; which they very much do. “Did you hear the rumours about Lotor? The theories are getting crazier and crazier,” they say as they place their makeshift alarm on the bench.

“Yeah, but it’s not even big news. There’s a new rumour of an assassination attempt every month, but nothing has ever happened. It’s been happening since before she was born, so no wonder she isn’t worried about it.”

Hunk pours out the ingredients, carefully adding the milk and butter as he whisks the sugar. Large peaks start to form in the pearlescent foam, the whisking becoming easier and easier as everything beats together into a light mixture.

“Still funny though,” they say, resting their chin on their hands as they watch hunk slowly scoop out dollops of icing to place on the now cool cupcakes. “Really, I heard one woman rambling about how it’s clearly Princess Allura who’s spreading the rumours.” Hunk carefully smooths out the mixture with the back of his spoon, creating perfect domes of white cream on each cake.

“I heard that they’re going to send a cat with poisoned claws to scratch her,” Hunk replies. This particular competition has been a staple of their friendship since the two met, they've spent years trying to one up eachother on who can come up with the craziest conspiracy theories. Hunk can proudly say that he's the undefeated champion. Last week it was that someone was planning to steal all of Allura’s pink roses. Look, it was a slow week, okay? 

Pidge grins widely as they snort. “Well, I know the truth.” Pidge pauses for dramatic effect. “Allura accidentally invited her assassin into her castle, thinking they were a peasant boy and is unknowingly letting her guard down around them.”

They both stare at each other with a calm and serious expression, nodding thoughtfully. Pidge twirls a fake mustache as Hunk runs his fingers across his chin, petting a his fake beard with a thoughtful hum. They both eventually snap, bursting out laughing as icing flies all across the bench as Hunk drops his spoon to clutch his sides.

“Ha! You think that conspiracy theory is the truth?!” Hunk loudly announces between fits of laughter. “I bet that the assassin is falling in lo - Stop laughing, Pidge! – Is falling in love with the princess!!” Hunk finishes, his hands shaking with laughter as he tries to finish the cupcakes, tears slipping down his cheeks as he continues to snort loudly. Pidge jumps on the table and takes a stupid pose, the laughter only growing louder when they both made eye contact with a woman slowly walking past the shop with a disgusted and hurried expression.

  
\-------------

  
“RED!!” A loud thump fills the forest, laugher following quickly after as someone groans. “Ow, Jesus Christ, that hurt.” Across the town lies Keith, flat on his ass in the middle of the forest as his horse stands above him, looking down at him with what is a curious look for a horse. Lance is a few meters away, laughing heartily on his blueish-grey horse. Keith _was_ happily riding his horse, gently stroking her mane as he took her out for her daily ride.

That was until she violently bucked him off, right into the large pile of hay outside of the stables.

It’s been a week since the fabled ballroom incident, and it’s good to know Keith is still as clumsy as before. Keith huffs loudly, blowing away the long strips of yellow hay that lay trapped in his hair. He sits on the large pile, his waist sinking into the hay as it compressed under his weight. Red bends down and starts biting off the pieces of hay that litter his body, a kind gesture as an apology.

“I was wondering when that’d happen!” Lance exclaims happily as he claps his hands together, not a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Red is known for being temperamental! I knew she was being too nice to you, she rarely lets anyone ride her!” Keith’s been riding Red for a little under a week, and this is officially the first time he's had any trouble with her. Somehow, he still blames Lance entirely. He probably spooked her for some kind of laugh or something.

Red nudges Keith’s arms and waist, letting out annoyed huffs as she pushes him and whips her tail around, making her opinion on Keith still being on the ground very clear. “Yeah, yeah. You were the one that bucked me off, remember?” Keith grips her head, using her as leverage to pull himself back up as she whinnies happily. Keith grabs her saddle and pulls himself back up, straddling her back.

“Okay, so… where were we?” Lance says with a sadistic smirk, rubbing his hands together as he sizes up Keith.

“You were bragging about how fast Blue is? Even if Red is clearly better.” Keith runs a gentle hand over her mane and says, “Look, either you can keep bluffing, or we can actually race.” Red has a maroon-red coat, while her mane was pure white and heavily contrasted against her darker coat. Both Red and Blue have flowers braided into their hair, the bright pink roses contrasting against their both marron and dull grey coats. Red huffs, trying to shake the flowers out of her hair of the thousandth time today; Keith can't say he blames her, they're rather hideous in his option. They're far too bright and they draw too much attention.

Keith grips the reigns of Red tighter and guides her towards the clearing in the trees, to makeshift racing track around the stables. “So, what does the winner get?” Lance asks as Blue slowly stops next to Red. He is looking down on Keith thanks to the height he already has on him, plus the boost the Blue gives him.

Keith ponders the question for a second before gasping, clapping his hands together. “How about I’ll owe you a chore, so if you don’t want to do something you can make me do it – regardless of what it is,” he says before quickly adding, “Of course, the same applies to you.”

“Make it so it doesn’t have it be a chore and you have yourself a deal.” So, basically, the winner gets to make the loser do anything they want? Oh god, that’d be giving Lance too much power. Lance holds out his hand for Keith to take, his palm out turned in an open position.

Alarm bells are ringing in his head, screaming for him to back out, cause who knows what Lance could make him do. “Deal.” Yeah, he’s never been one to listen to warnings. Lance smiles widely and takes his hand, nodding happily as Blue starts to kick up the dirt under her.

“Three!” Lance starts to count, Red huffing loudly as her ears twitch with excitement. Keith grips her reigns tighter and gently runs one of her braids through his fingers. “Two!” Blue huffs this time, her tail whipping around behind her.

“ONE!” Both boys yell as they take off, the sound thundering hooves filling the forest as they fly down the track, dirt flying up behind them. Keith is in the lead – only just. There’s rhythmic thumping, a tell-tale pattern of galloping from both of the horses as they cut through the forest.

Keith continues to pull on her reigns, lightly tapping her with his foot as he continues to signal for her to speed up. The gap between him and Lance is increasing, Keith pulling further and further ahead as she continues to charge though, her speed only accelerating.

“Come on, girl!” Keith orders as he whips the reigns again, pulling them tightly to help her turn the corner, her hooves almost slipping as she straightens back up on the other side. Keith glances behind him for a moment to check on Lance, the boy completely out of view at the bend behind him. Was he really that far ahead? He continues down the track only to see rustling in the trees next to him, a loud thumping following close after. He glances behind him again to see Lance still missing. Did he fall?

His mind conjures up the scenario of if Blue had bucked Lance off like Red had done to him, Lance lying on the ground with his shirt covered in dirt and dust – for some reasons Blue had a human laugh; don’t question it. He feels the cold metal of the horse’s stirrups brush against his ankle, the goosebumps that shoot across his body reminding him of the knife that is carefully hidden under his bed.

The image in his mind changes in an instant, not Lance laughing on the ground as Blue happily trots around him, but him pinned forcibly by one of the Galra soldiers, knife to his neck and hands above his head. Would Lance be begging? Fighting back? Would he just give in, knowing that he didn’t stand a chance?

Keith can’t help but wonder those things, it’s probably the fucked up part of his brain that forces him to think about those aspects of life. A part of him that forces him to look at how someone would die rather than how they live their life. It's dumb; he hates it.  
As much as the movie playing in Keith’s head makes his stomach drop, he can’t seem to find the will to care.

He doesn’t know Lance, he’ll probably never know him well enough to care away. He knows Lance well enough to tell that he’s not actually getting stabbed in the middle of the forest, he probably just nicked off to flirt with a cute ‘babe’ he ran into when riding. So, like he already said; he doesn’t care.

Sure, Lance is an alright dude. He’s fun and helps Keith with cleaning the castle, but that’s kind of where their relationship ends – Lance is temporary. That’s what he’s been taught, never let someone close, they’ll only disappoint you. Get what you need and go. Power over Love.

The thumping only grows louder and pulls Keith out of his thoughts. The next thing he knows a sea of blueish-grey jumps out from the tree line, hurdling over a fallen tree and directly in front of Keith. There’s a loud whooping as the blue animal straightens up in front of Keith, still a good fifty meters ahead. He hates to say it, but now he knows that excited whooping anywhere – it’s Lance.

“SHORTCUTS FOR THE WIN!!” Lance whoops again as blue skids across the ‘finish line’ (which in actuality is just a line in the dirt that Lance drew with a stick). Red slows to a gallop as she passes the line, she’s just as annoyed as Keith if her huffing has anything to say about it.

Lance won fair and square; well now that he thinks about it, it wasn’t really fair. Lance won square.

“You cheated and we both know it,” Keith says as he starts to walk Red towards the stables. The track was a complete circuit, so they’re right back where they started.

“Nah, I was just smart enough to find a different way to win,” Lance says as he walks Blue alongside Red, the two horses huffing loudly at each other. Lance is smiling widely, clearly pleased with his ‘win’ over Keith.

Keith can’t find the energy to fake a smile, the spiral of thoughts that consumed him mid-race had already drained him mentally. He settles for a neutral expression as he gently pats Red, pulling on her reigns to guide her back into the stables.

“Now! What should I make you do?” Lance wonders out loudly, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he plays with his fake beard.

“If you could make a decision this century, that’d be great,” Keith mocks. It’s empty, dull. _Fake_.

“Bup! Bup! Bup!” Lance shushes Keith loudly, waving his arms around. “See! Now I’ve lost my train of thought! Good job, Keith! Okay, I’ll just hold off on your punishment until I think of a really good one.”

Keith hums in response, putting the conversation to bed that second. He really doesn’t like how ‘buddy, buddy’ him and Lance are getting. It was fine when they were just casually chatting and doing chores. But Dancing? Bets? Competitions?! That’s too much; far too much.

Keith convinces himself that this is a one-time thing, that he simply slipped up these two times with the dancing and horse-riding. He can stop at any time, all he needs to do is say ‘ _No’_ and that’ll be it. Lance will move on to bugging someone else in the castle and Keith can focus on why he’s actually here.

 _‘It won’t happen again’_ He tells himself, sliding the lock of Reds stable door shut. _‘I won’t let my guard down around him again’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too.


	4. Late night strolls

Keith learnt a long time ago that life isn’t fair, it never has been, and it probably never will be. His life has been… objectively shit. Some people have had it far worse, but that doesn’t make his any better. He’s always been envious of people like princess Allura, people born into royalty and privilege. But, now he knows better than ever how false that really is.

Allura may have had a far better childhood than he did, but that quickly ended. It was like her bad luck was building up over her fifteen years of relative peace, because in one fatal swoop she was left without her parents and a kingdom to run. All at the ripe old age of sixteen.

Given the pressure that was thrown on her without so much as a ‘sorry for your loss’, she’s handled it incredibly well. She rules with grace, dignity and a kindness that the world was yet to forcibly rip it from her, even with everything that has gone wrong.

Keith may not understand it, but he respects it. She’s a good person. It’s a shame about what going to happen to her. But, as he’s said, the world isn’t fair. He can at least make it painless, which is better than what most people get.

He’s met many more people he’s grown to respect during his time in the castle, one being Takashi Shirogane. Keith likes Shiro, well, more respects him if anything. He’s not loud or annoying like Lance or someone he’s actively trying to kill like Allura. He’s just someone he can seem to calm down around.

Keith slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes as he looks around. It’s still dark out, the window only letting in small slivers of pale moonlight from outside, the room otherwise shrouded in darkness. Lance is still quietly snoring next to him, rolling over in his own bed as he ungracefully drools on his pillow.

It’s got to be sometime past one in the morning. His entire body is screaming at him to go back to bed and never wake up, but he already knows he won’t be able to. He lets out a small yawn and slides out of bed, quickly slipping on the shoes he keeps under his bed. He doesn’t bother putting on socks as he slips them on.

It’s always been like this, he’s never really been able to sleep easy. Something is always worrying him, and even when he feels like he’s going to pass out any minute, sleep refuses to cooperate. He’s beyond exhausted, but he knows if he goes back to bed the nightmares will only start again.

He looks over at his and Lance’s shared closet. It’s not like he’s going anywhere right? He looks himself over in the darkness of the room, undergarments and a loose shirt… yeah, no. He quickly pulls on a pair of pants, not bothering to change his shirt as he slips his cloak on over his shoulders, the hood falling messily over his back. He sighs and pulls his blanket up behind him, briskly making his bed as sleep slowly slips out of his grasp. He just needs to clear his head for a bit.

“Keith?” A weak voice croaks behind him. He turns around to see Lance staring up at him with half-lidded eyes. “You okay?” he asks, and even in his half comatose state as he yawns between words, Keith can tell it’s genuine. His voice is deeper than usual, slightly raspy as he remains thoroughly buried in his bed sheets, his cheeks pressed against his pillow.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just, can’t sleep,” Keith says with a small smile. It’s fake, but Lance seems to believe all the same “I’m just going to go get a drink of water.”

“One second, jus’ lemme wake up,” Lance grumbles, not unhappily mind you, just drunkenly.

“Lance, I’m just going to get a glass of water. I don’t need you babysitting me,” Keith scoffs, genuinely amused as Lance flops around in his sheets, clearly trying to will himself out of bed; though, he loses the battle every time.

“Keith, I dunno if you’ve heard, but people are talking about someone tryin’ to kill Allura.” Keith’s heart stops in his chest, his stomach knotting in ways he isn't used to. His blood runs cold, a familiar feeling of terror washing over his whole body. “I don’t think anyone is here, but the castle isn’t safe alone right now… especially at night,” Lance says, slowly sitting up in his bed, rubbing his eyes as he does so.

“Lance, I appreciate you worrying about me. I really do.” **_Lie_**. “But, I can handle myself. I always have.” _**Lie**_. “I won’t be gone long, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” _**Lie**_.

“Okay, I’ll uh- wait up for you?” Buried under wall after wall that Keith so carefully puts there, his heart skips a beat. Lays of denial instantly smother the feelings before he can even notice it, and it’s gone as soon as it came.

“Don’t bother,” Keith says, coming off abruptly harsh and cold; the idea of Lance having any power over him shakes him to his core. Lance cares, and he can see that.

It’s nothing special, he cares for everything and everyone he meets, but Keith still hates it. He shouldn’t despise affection as much as he does, but it’s the way he is. It’s the way he’ll always be.

“Sorry, I mean, just try and get some sleep. I don’t want you worrying yourself over me,” Keith says, trying the softest smile he can manage, his voice smooth and calm.

“Okay, just be careful,” Lance says before abruptly rolling over, his voice was higher than before, cracking at points. He can hear Lance breathing, it’s heavy and rushed like he’s been running. Odd. All of this over a glass of water?

Keith shrugs as he steps out of the room and into the hallway, the few torches hanging from the walls providing small pockets of light in the otherwise pitch-black hall.

  
His footsteps echo through the castle, and a few mice occasionally scurry past his feet, almost squeaking a hello as they dive into their holes. He really doesn’t understand why Lance is the way he is. That boy will always be an anomaly to him. Always and forever.

  
Keith stops abruptly, his train of thought crashing and burning against a solid brick wall. Always and forever? No, that’s dangerous.

‘ _This is temporary,’_ he thinks to himself, hammering the thought into his head. Getting his hopes up, daydreaming like this can only end in disaster. The idea of having somewhere permanent and safe to stay is an intriguing and inviting one, but it’s an idea. Nothing more. It’s not reality. It’ll never be his reality.

He blinks as he looks around in the cold and empty hall. This is his reality. Dark, lonely and unforgiving. He can pass by torches on his journey, but the light eventually fades; he’ll eventually step back into darkness. If he wants to stay somewhere comfortable and safe, he’ll never go forward. It’ll trap him at the one point in the hall, never moving forward or back.

Anyway, enough with figurative hallways and back to the one he’s actually in. He steps into the kitchen, shaking off the thoughts plaguing him for the hundredth time today. “Get a grip, Keith.” He sighs and turns on the tap, ice cold water gushing out in an instant.

He cups his hands and holds them under the skin, splashing his face until it’s burning yet numb at the same time. He slowly switches off the water, sighing as he grips the sink, leaning over it.

“You’re stronger than this, why are you even worried? You’ve never had a job this big before. If you can do it… You may be able to go free. Why would you blow this over some stupid feelings? You don’t care about anyone, and no one cares about you,” he whispers to himself, delivering what could be considered the most pessimistic pep talk of all time. But, it works. He feels better, well, if you can consider convincing yourself that no one cares about you to be better.

There’s a quiet thump outside, something he can only assume is the mice yet again. He idly wonders what it’ll take for Allura to let him place traps. Humane ones of course, but then he could at least move them out of the castle. Maybe ship them off on a boat to Antarctica. Man, isn’t that a nice thought.

He chuckles to himself at the thought of standing on the docs, waving the little nuisances goodbye. He steps out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by a loud smack. It rings through his ears for a second, the sound of flesh and bone hitting something solid echoing through the hall.

A few seconds later, the pain registers in his brain.

His entire face explodes in agony, his nose throbbing harshly. He looks up through slightly clouded eyes to see Shiro standing in front of him, metal-plated arm outstretched and clenched in front of him. “HOLY SHIT!! OW, TAKASHI?! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Keith hollers, cupping his hands around his nose and mouth. His voice is muffled as he groans lowly, stumbling backwards.

“Oh my god, Keith? I’m so sorry,” Shiro immediately apologises, rushing to his side like a worried mother.

“YOU JUST FUCKIN’ PUNCHED ME!” he hisses through gritted teeth, the familiar feeling of blood trickling down from his nose and onto his hands. He can taste iron on his tongue, the thick blood covering his lips as it drips down his face.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks with a guilty expression, bending down slightly as Keith hunches over, still covering his face.

“YOU BROKE MY FUC- DO I LOOK OKAY?!” Keith’s screaming at this point, more out of anger than anything. His nose is definitely broken, he can feel the blockage in one of his nostrils as everything is shifted to the right.

“Jeez, I’m sorry, what were you even doing up this late?” Shiro says, riffling through the nearby cabinets to pull out some rags. Keith is well and truly bleeding, and he pulls his hands away to see the blood that’s dripped from his nose and onto his hands. It’s nothing too catastrophic, but it’s not pleasant either.

“I was getting a glass of water, what does it look like? Plus, I could be asking you the same question,” he sighs, taking a couple rags to press against his nose. He scrunches them up and holds them in place, the blood soaking in as Shiro continues to panic.

“I thought you were like an assassin or robber or something! I freaked out. I’m the princess’s knight, it’s my job to deck people, I didn’t mean to punch you, of course. But, it’s instinct at this point. Wait, I think the chefs have ice somewhere in here,” Shiro rambles, opening draw after draw in a fury of muttered apologies and excuses. There’s a swell of guilt in Keith’s stomach, an overwhelming need to apologise for something he’s not even responsible for clawing in his throat.

“I understand,” he settles for, giving Shiro a weak smile. “I have a high pain tolerance anyway, Takashi. It’s not – Thanks – not a huge deal.” He shrugs it off, taking the sack of ice off of Shiro mid-sentence. He presses it to his face as the dull throbbing fades away into a mild ache. Ice works wonders.

“Still, punching you isn’t really the best way to get you to stop calling me Takashi,” Shiro jokes, lightly punching his arm in mockery. Right… the whole Takashi situation.

“You name is Takashi, is it not?” Shiro nods slowly. “Then that’s what I’ll call you. It’s simple as that… unless a first name basis is too much for you, and you’d prefer if I called you Shirogane?” Keith quirks his head to the side as he speaks.

“I told you, all my friends call me Shiro. Takashi is too formal for my tastes,” Shiro explains for the umpteenth time, he takes Keith’s hand and pulls it away from his face, checking out the bruise that was quickly forming. Keith could feel the swelling across the bridge of his nose and the surrounding areas. Man, there’s going to be no hiding it tomorrow.

‘ _I hope Lance doesn’t make too much of a fuss,’_ he idly thinks to himself as he mops up the remaining blood.

“Alright. Well, I’m going to go for a walk… I need to clear my head.” Keith says as he steps back out into the hall, his face falling completely blank as Shiro calls out behind him. He sighs and pulls his hood back over his head, slinking into the shadows within a few seconds.

Keith turns away from Shiro and doesn't look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too.


	5. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just before the chapter starts I want to say thank you! The reaction to this story has been INCREDIBLE! I know it doesn’t seem like much, but the comments that you guys have left have been so amazingly supportive.  
> So yeah, keep being amazing! Thanks again!

There’s a fallen tree stump next to Keith, an array of knives resting on the smooth surface of the trunk. He’s standing in the middle of the forest, the sun beating down harshly through the canopy above like arrows splitting through the leaves. It’s dark down on the ground, and thick moss covers every surface that isn’t littered with dry, crunchy leaves.

Keith picks up a single knife, his fingers wrapping carefully around the leather grip on the polished silver blade. He twirls it around slowly in his fingers as he analyses the oval-like targets that are carved messily into the tree stumps around him, where countless chips can be seen in the bark from each time his knife hits its point.

Hardly any of the trees in his makeshift training area are without damage, the vast majority of each one covered in thick grooves where bits of wood have been chipped away. With each pull and removal of his blade, he chips off more and more. He sighs as looks at a large oak tree towering directly in front of him, a clunky circle carved halfway up the tree as a target.

The twirling knife in his hand comes to a stop as he suddenly clenches it in his fist. Keith inhales deeply as his knuckles turn a flushed pink and an eventual white. Then, he exhales loudly out of his nose before he springs into action.

Twisting his entire body at his hips, he takes a step forward and propels the knife upwards and out. With a loud thump, his knife sticks cleanly into the tree, just above the centre of the target. Keith sighs and steps forward, his shoulders slouching down from his perfect throwing posture, and mumbled, “Didn’t account for the change in height.” He was pretty damn close; it was only a few centimetres off. But, it’s not perfect, therefore it’s not good enough. In a fight it won’t matter how close his knife gets...if it misses, it misses, and he can’t have that happening.

He places one of his hands on the tree, while the other wraps around the handle of the blade. He simultaneously pushes and pulls as the knife slips out of the wood, a few splinters falling to the forest floor below. His palm remains against the tree as he faces it, the knife held tightly in his grip as he listens, hovering in place for a moment. He exhales slowly and stays still for another few seconds; there’s a quiet crunch behind him, something that at first could be mistaken for one of the deer than roam these woods.

See, but there’s one problem most people forget - Keith whips around and throws his knife, the blade cutting through the air - deer are silent. It lands cleanly in the tree, directly on target; however, he threw to miss his real target. “I told you to stop sneaking up on me,” he scolds, walking up to pull the knife out of the tree. The knife that landed next to a very terrified Lance.

“Shiro told me you snuck out last night,” Lance says, cutting right to the chase. “Is this where you went? I didn’t even see you at breakfast… were you really out here all night?”

“Is that any of your business?” Keith says as he crosses his arms, dodging the question. The answer is ultimately: yes, he’s been out here all night.

He walked out here in the dead of the night, took the throwing knives that he usually hid in Red’s stable, carved targets into trees, and threw sharp things around as he tried to clear his head.

It never really worked, though. The cold night air only reminded him of the nights he’d spend shivering in his room back in the Galra castle, or the weeks he spent on the run before they captured him for the first time. The memories did absolutely nothing to calm him down, and if anything it only made it worse.

He spent the entire night in the forest trying to clear his head, and he’s got nothing to show for it.

“Yes. It is my business, Keith,” Lance says as he crosses his arms in a similar fashion, a small scowl on his face as he looks at Keith. “It’s quite literally my job to worry about you.” Lance sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair. “Look. You’re my friend okay? I’m going to worry if you disappear in the middle of the night, regardless of my obligation to the princess.”

Keith’s stomach twists violently when the realisation hits him. Of course, Lance has grown attached to him, he’s full of emotions. He shouldn’t be surprised really, it was bound to happen with all of the time they’ve been forced to spend together. This has definitely thrown him for a loop.

Okay, Keith just needs to gently put Lance down, and tell him that he doesn’t really think they’re friends. Maybe he can just act harsh and distant?

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, okay? But, thanks for looking out for me, I guess.“ Fuck, wait. That’s not what he meant to say.

The smile that Lance gives could easily rival the sun itself, and can only be described as ecstatic. Keith, on the other hand, is just flat out confused.

He has no idea why said what he just said. It must’ve just been a knee-jerk reaction. It slipped out before he could even register it.  
It was probably just him trying to throw off any suspicion. Yeah, it’s just him looking out for himself so Lance doesn’t get skeptical.

“Aww! You do have a heart!” Lance mocks, a smile still present on his lips. There’s a light heat on Keith's face that he’s not used to, like a dull burn spreading across his cheeks. “I gotta say though, what’cha did was pretty impressive! Really, you’ve got spot on aim,” Lance says, running his fingers over the groves of the tree.

Okay, here’s an opening. Just shrug it off and leave, brush off his compliment and storm off. Act like an asshole. “Oh, uh, thanks. I can teach you if you’d like,” Keith says before he can stop himself, a smile on his lips as he picks up a knife and tosses it in his hand. He holds it by the blade and presents it to Lance, the handle facing outwards.

“Really?” Lance asks, the excitement clear in his tone, Lance hesitantly reaches out for the blade, his fingers barely brushing the tough leather of the handle. He pulls his hand back, closing it ever so slightly as he hesitates, the blade still hovering out in front of him.

“Yeah, It’s not a huge deal. Here.” Keith gently presses the handle of the blade into Lance’s open palm, his other hand slowly guiding the boy’s fingers around the grip. “It’s really simple. I’d be happy to show you.” He’s rambling, and at this point he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.

“That’d be amazing. I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight, but Shiro doesn’t really want to teach me, at least not for a while. He’s always busy with different recruits, so he just doesn’t seem to have time.” Lance shrugs, looking over the blade with fascination, gently rolling the weapon over in his fingers. A couple times he fumbles slightly, his hands visibly shaking. Keith notices that he doesn’t hold it quite right, his wrist in an awkward position as the knife teeters on the edge of falling to the ground.

Keith clears his throat and says, “Well, I’m no professional.” Little does Lance fucking know. “But, I know how to defend myself, I’m sure I can teach you a thing or two.” Why is he doing this, teaching a possible enemy how to fight? God, this goes against every aspect of his training, every single instinct that the Galra drilled into him over his life. Then, why doesn’t this feel wrong? He should feel like he’s betraying everyone, yet, he doesn’t feel that way.

Lance is a weird one. He just seems to throw Keith off his game in ways that don’t seem possible. All logic flies out the window when Lance is involved, and Keith can’t work out why. He knows every battle tactic like the back of his hand, but he’s never come across something — someone like this. Never in his life has someone been able to surprise him, catch him as off guard as Lance does.

It’s dangerous. But, something about it keeps calling him back.

“Man! Wait until I show Shiro this, he’ll be so impressed,” Lance says as he twirls the knife through his fingers. Suddenly, he gasps and makes an annoyed face. His hand shoots out as the knife fumbles and slips away from his reach, hitting the leaf-strewn forest floor with a quiet thump. Lance visibly deflates as he stares at the now dirty knife. “What?” he asks when Keith begins to chuckle.

Laughing lightly, a small smile forms on his lips as Keith shakes his head. “Nothing, you just may need more help than I thought,” he mocks. It’s coming so naturally to him, the laughter, idle chatter. It’s all real.

“Hey! Don’t bully your student!”

“Right, do you want to learn hand-to-hand combat or how to throw?” Keith asks, jutting his hip out as he crosses his arms, leaning most of his weight on his left leg.

“I’d like to say hand-to-hand, but I have a strong feeling that you’d whoop my ass in that,” Lance says slowly, not so subtly checking out the knives that are still resting on the trunk behind Keith.

“Fair enough. I’ll probably have to show you eventually if you really do want me to teach you how to defend yourself — like if this isn’t a one-off thing. ‘Cause, one day, you may not want to fight someone, but you’re going to have to anyway. You can’t back down out of fear of getting hurt.” Keith doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but you can’t control how life plays out. There’s always a strong chance of getting yourself caught in a duel, and it’s more a matter of when than if.

“Right! Well, I’m ready whenever you are!” Lance says with a wide smile as he quickly bends down and picks back up his knife, gently brushing the dirt off on his pants. He claps his hands loudly as his eyes go wide. “I almost forgot! You skipped breakfast, so I brought you something!” Lance spins around and pulls a small brown sack out of his satchel. “When I was looking for you, I passed this bakery… so…” Lance passes the bag over with a wide smile.

Keith shoots him a sceptical look and unwraps the parcel, revealing a small muffin. It’s about the size of his fist, and there are small, blackish-purple spots throughout the pastry, some slightly bigger than others. Keith looks up at him with an even more confused expression. “What are the these spots?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Lance realises when Keith’s expression refuses to change that he is, most definitely, not joking. “They’re blueberries?” Keith only grows more confused. “You know, the purple berry that grows on the bushes around the kingdom? They’re sweet and soft?”

“I’m well aware of what they are, but why are they in my muffin?” Back when he was with the Galra, blueberries (or any fruit for that matter) were next to impossible to get, and expensive as hell if you could get your hands on them. Pastries over there were dry, plain, and half the size of the one in his hand. It’s hard for commoners to get ingredients, so most Galran bakers just have to suffice with flour, a little bit of sugar, and water. No milk, eggs or anything else that was available only for Galran royalty. It’s not that bad though, because even those shitty muffins are a treat in that kingdom.

“It’s a blueberry muffin. Like, it’s made with blueberries, so that kinda the point of it?” Lance explains slowly, carefully gaging Keith’s reaction as he speaks.

“Have you never had a blueberry muffin?”

“I’ve never had a blueberry, period. They’re too expensive, and I never had the money.” It’s hard to ignore how Lance’s face drops, whenever Keith talks about his past. “When you’re struggling to eat from day to day, you don’t really think about fruit or muffins.”

“Keith…” Lance says slowly, he looks so guilty, like he’s personally responsible for the years that Keith spent starving half to death. “Jeez, I knew you hated to talk about whatever your life was like before we met… but, I never realised it was that bad. I thought you just missed home or something, not that you were trying to escape it.” The idea of Keith missing the Galra empire is almost laughable. He’ll never miss the shithole he once called his home.

“It’s not a massive deal. Sorry for bumming you out... and thanks for the muffin,” Keith tacks on the thank you at the end as a last thought; it’s a simple reaction (much like the rest of his conversation today). Seriously, why can’t he control his own mouth?

“It’s fine, but I think now I’m going to bring you something like this every day to make up for the years that you missed out. Oh! I’ve totally got to introduce you to the baker, he’s so nice. I really want him to start selling to the castle, because his cooking is like magic.” Lance may actually be drooling as he talks about the bakery. Yeah, there’s definitely drool congregating in the corners of his mouth.

“That good, huh?” Keith says.

“Oh yeah. He doesn’t think he’s that great at baking, but he could make a real killing if he sold to Princess Allura. I know for a fact she’d order a batch of his scones at least once a week.” Lance glances down at the knife as silence falls over them “So, should we start the lesson?”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith's stomach twists for reasons he can’t explain. “Okay, so close your eyes and focus on the sound of your breathing.” Lance follows the instructions as his eyes drift shut, his chest steadily rising and falling. “Listen to the sounds around you, every insect that buzzes under the leaves, each bird that hides in the branches above. Picture it all, and focus in on exactly where each sound is coming from,” Keith says as he slowly approaches the boy.

It’s nearly silent in the forest as both boys stand in front of each other, listening carefully to the animals around them. Ants crawl between their feet in hoards, while songbirds chirp loudly from the trees and dry leaves rustle in the wind. Keith stares at Lance, his face holding a calm expression as he breathes in and out, and he finds himself moving closer, staring more intently as the world around him slowly fades into nothingness.

He jumps back and clears his throat when he notices just how close he was leaning in, the same warmth as before quickly spreading over his body.

“Right! So, you need to work on your stance,” he exclaims louder than he meant to, snapping Lance out of his mediation. Keith walks around behind Lance, gently place his hands over the boy's forearms. “Your posture is sloppy at best, you stance is far too wide, you have the grace of a one legged elephant and your energy is far beyond lackluster. You’re going to be miles off target at this rate,” Keith says as he lists off flaw after flaw, Lance visibly deflating with ever addition to the evergrowing list.

Keith steps closer, his chest almost against Lance’s back. He gently tugs Lance to straighten his spine and square up his shoulder, then he slides his leg in the gap between Lance’s and kicks gently, pushing his feet out until they’re in line with his shoulders.

He only moves closer as he wraps his hands around Lance’s, their forearms in line as Keith stands directly behind Lance. “So, what you want to do—“ Keith can’t help but notice how Lance tenses every time Keith talks, how his shoulders instantly turn ridged and his arms freeze under his touch. Odd. “Think you can handle it?”

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” Lance says as his voice quivers ever so slightly. Keith watches as Lance fumbles with the blade for a second and takes his stance, honing in on the target a few meters ahead of him. There’s a confidence in his gaze that Keith hasn’t seen before. Well, it’s not really confidence, that’s made abundantly clear by the uncertainty that’s painted across his features … he looks determined if anything.

Keith watches intently as Lance breaths slowly, his free hand fidgeting as he drums out a quiet beat against his leg. The drumming stops a second before he throws. The knife lands on the tree before it falls to the ground, a tiny groove in the tree. Keith walks up and runs his finger along the small cut in the wood of the tree.

Keith has to admit he’s pretty shocked; it was a really good shot. The small cut is on par with his own, his own groves a mere few centimetres closer to the centre than Lance’s. That’s actually impressive. Really impressive.

If he had a little more power the knife would have actually stuck in the tree, which is something that only really comes with practice. Keith stands there, his finger over the small cut as he blinks owlishly.  
Lance takes Keith's silence as disapproval. “That bad, huh?” Lance says sheepishly as he nervously scratches the back of his head.

“Lance…” Keith slowly says, the words refusing to come as his finger remains resting over the bark. “That was... actually really good.” It’s not quite what he’s thinking, but it’s good enough. His brain is more or less a pile of goo right now, and it’s all because this dude turns out to be a really good shot? Jeez.

“Really? But, it didn’t stay in the tree,” Lance points out.

“It took me years to get this good at knife throwing, I had shockingly dreadful aim when I first started… I’m naturally a horrible shot. Your first throw was better than my first hundred,” Keith speaks like he can’t even believe what he’s saying. “You’ve got damn good aim, seriously.” When did the goofy Lance that Keith grew to know turn into this guy?

“Ha! I’m totally better than you!” Lance yells, jumping up with a loud whoop. Nevermind, he’s still the same Lance.

“Yeah, yeah. Just wait until we get to actual fighting.” Keith rolls his eyes as he tosses the knife back to Lance. Keith slowly rolls his shoulders, his joints cracking as he does so.

“Yeah, like you could-” Lance starts with a cocky smile on his face. Keith takes the moment as an opening, and he drops to the ground and swings his leg around in front of him, balancing his entire weight on the balls of his other foot. He kicks Lance’s feet out from under him, the boy gasping loudly as he falls to the ground with a loud thud that echoes through the forest.

“You were saying?” Keith says with a smirk that mirrors the one Lance had mere moments ago, as he pulls the knife out from his back pocket slowly.

His fingers tremble around the blade as he looks down at Lance, who’s still resting on his elbows as he looks up at Keith with an unreadable expression. He holds the knife out for a moment before he drops it harmlessly on Lance’s chest. Keith smiles widely when Lance picks the knife back up and starts to rise back to his feet.

“Come on, _Sharpshooter_. Show me what you’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too.


	6. Please, let me in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word count for this is just under 5000 words, which makes this the longer chapter I've wrote for this (I think longest chapter in anything?) to date.  
> So, get comfortable and enjoy!

“Mama?” a small boy calls out, his hair matted and messy as he pads through a dark hallway. He rubs his eyes as he yawns, his short legs buckling under him as he stumbles around. “Papa?” the boy calls again, his voice cracking as the darkness surrounds him.

It’s too dark to see, but he knows where he’s going; this is his home after all. The house is eerily silent, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he continues dragging his feet down the hall, the sleeves of his shirt hanging over his arms like curtains.

He’s five, maybe six years old. His body is frail and worn, the small chub of baby fat around his stomach contrasting against his thin frame. He’s clean through, his skin soft, pink and blemish free. There’s a small sea of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the sun-kissed skin extending to the valley of his neck.

“Mama?” the boy yells down the empty hall again, his voice carrying through with no reply. However, he can hear someone humming in the distance, a small light shining into the hallway from one of the rooms.

He speeds up until he turns a corner into the room, the artificial glow of a lamp filling the space as the humming grows louder. A woman is sitting in a worn-down rocking chair, the wood splintering around the centre and edges.

Her features are faded from a life well lived, smile lines and wrinkles covering her face, the majority around the corners of her eyes. Her black hair is falling in curls around her shoulders, an untameable heap of tangles tucked behind her ears; clearly, she’s yet to brush it. She gives off a warm aura as the quiet flipping of pages falls into a nice rhythm.

“Mama?” the child says once more, finally getting a response as the woman turns towards her child with a gasp, placing the book down onto the equally worn table next to her.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks, the child nodding in return. “Come here, sit up here with me.” She pats her leg gently as the small boy jumps up into her lap, clambering up onto the chair that’s almost taller than he is.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks, looking up at his mother with wide eyes, his arms between his legs as he stares up at her.

“A story about a magical kingdom not too far from here.” Aka: a textbook. “It’s somewhere that Papa and I want to take you, where we can find a better life for you, my little prince.” She tickles the boy in her lap, the boy loudly squealing as he wiggles around, squirming under her touch.

“Is that what you’ve been talking about to those people? The ones on the street?” he questions with childlike curiosity.

“Yes, so smart!” she exclaims, the boy practically beaming under her praise. “They’ve been told about the kingdom too, but unfortunately, they’ve been told lies. Papa and I are telling them the truth, that way more people can be happy.”

“Wow, when can we go? I want to go noooowwww!” he whines, twisting and turning his body.

“Soon, dear. We just have to wait because we’ve got to sneak into the kingdom, like ninjas!” The question forming (about why the hell they’d have into sneak to the kingdom) flies straight over the toddler’s head at the mere mention of ninjas.

“Like ninjas!” the boy yells in a hushed tone, his finger pressed it his lips as he shushes, giggling throughout the whole conversation.

It all happens in a blur; a bloody, messy blur. The door to the house flies open, the weak and rusted hinges breaking as the door hits the floor with a loud thud. The moonlight spills into the otherwise artificially illuminated house (even though the house was mostly pitch black anyway).

A man runs in from an adjacent room at the sound, lunging in front of his wife and child. “They found out. It’s happening,” he rushes out as he pushes over a bookcase, blocking the doorway. The woman anxiously stands up and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly as they face the blocked door, husband and wife creating a protective wall in front of their baby. It won’t hold for long.

The wife moves her child behind a chair, wrapping him tightly in a blanket. “Stay here, and don’t make a sound, okay? Just like we practised.” He nods, remembering their games of hide and seek. She smiles at him and places a kiss on his forehead before rushing off, tears painting her cheeks.

Soldiers fill the house, swords held out in front of them as they scan the room, and what feels like thousands of eyes landing on the parents huddled in a corner. There are only seven guards, but it still leaves the family severely outnumbered.

The child is frozen in his seat as he watches everything unfold, his widened eyes witnessing everything, his brain logging every single gory detail. Every drop of blood, every scream, every slash of a sword. All of it.

It’s burned into his very soul, something that he’ll never forget, no matter how much time passes. He watches from between the gaps in the chair, his mouth opens in a silent scream as he desperately clamps his hands down around his mouth. He has to be good at hiding, just as his mother asked.

Eventually, it’s all over, only three of the seven soldiers remaining. “Targets terminated. Come on, we have to report the casualties,” a soldier says as she slides her bloodied sword through a loop in her belt.

“Rodger.” The other two say with a salute. Each guard bends down and throws one of its fallen comrades over their shoulder, the biggest of the group carrying two. They exit the house moments later, stepping over broken furniture without so much as guilt or remorse.

The child —No, Keith. He stopped being a child the second that door was kicked down — stumbles out from behind the chair, finally sobbing as he runs as fast as his legs can take him.

“Mama? Papa?” he says for the umpteenth time this night, his words once again not receiving a response. “Wake up, why are you sleeping?” he cries, pushing his parents’ bodies as he kneels next to them, his hands painted a thick red. It’s sticky and gross, but he only moves closer, pushing harder as blood pours from their wounds.

“This isn’t funny anymore, wake up! You can’t sleep on the floor, it’s dirty!” Keith cries again, desperately pushing and pulling on his parents, their faces remaining deathly blank. He didn’t notice at the time, but they were still holding hands as he began sobbing by their side.

“Please… I don’t want to sleep alone,” he chokes, his shirt stained a dark red as he leans over their bodies, the blood from the wounds soaking into his clothes. “Why won’t you wake up?” It would be years until he could answer that question. “What about the kingdom? I want to go there with you!”

Keith’s eyes fly open with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest, and his body covered with a thin layer of sweat. He looks around, expecting to be trapped in that damn house again, but he’s not. He’s safe, he's in the castle. He’s not in that godforsaken house; hell, that house doesn’t even exist anymore. They tore down that place years ago, his parents buried god knows where.

God, what does this make it, the fourth night in a row? Why has he been dreaming so much of his parents? Why is that memory resurfacing now?

Why is his brain pushing him to think about his family? He doesn’t want to remember it; he’s moved on, healed. That’s a lie, actually. He’ll never heal, not completely at least. Either way, he doesn’t want to remember what it was like to feel loved or wanted, not with the way his life is now. It’ll only make him nostalgic. It’ll reopen old wounds and remind him of what he’ll never have again.

So then, why the hell does he keep thinking about it?

Keith lies awake for the rest of the night, Lance happily snoring a few meters away. Occasionally Lance will shift in his sleep, his breathing uneven throughout the whole night. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing does. He doesn’t trust anyone in the castle. He doesn’t even like anyone in the castle. But, a small part of him screams otherwise. It’s possible that as of lately he’s remained… less than objective.

He trusts Takashi, even if he did break his nose.

He doesn’t hate Lance (you could even say he considers him a friend).

Allura and Coran are both very kind towards him, and he appreciates that.

But...

He’s loyal to the Galra. That can’t change.

With a quiet sigh, Keith pushes himself up from his bed. It’s still dark out. Moonlight filters through the window beside him, casting over the room with an eerie, silver glow. A few birds chirp outside – the early birds, so to speak – rising for the day before any of their companions.

Lance’s quiet snores still fill the room as he stays blissfully asleep. Lance has to go to the markets to pick up some stuff today and knowing him, he’s going to swing by that bakery he loves so much on the way. It should give Keith a few hours to clear his head and deal with the emotions that these memories anyway bring.

Lance always goes looking for him if he’s gone for more than a few hours at a time. It’s sweet. Keith doesn’t have to be anywhere until about noon and Lance shouldn’t be back until then. Meaning, he’s got plenty of time before he even has to worry about training Lance.

Lance has improved a lot since they first started, give him a few more weeks and… well, Keith is convinced that he’ll be a pretty formidable opponent.  Something swells in his gut, an unfamiliar sensation that’s suddenly become a common occurrence.

At first, Keith assumed it was pride and contentment. He soon learnt it wasn’t. He’s felt content before… and this isn’t it. Butterflies and hornets. That’s the best way Keith can describe the swilling of his thoughts and twisting of his stomach.

Butterflies and hornets. Something that only wreaks havoc on his body when he thinks about Lance.

________________________________________

Lance is late to training. Usually, Keith would be panicking and searching for his missing co-worker but he’s already done that.

And look where that got him.

Keith lies on the forest floor, his mouth somehow both bone dry and covered in a slick layer of blood. He flinches and gasps with each wheezed breath he manages to exhale through his split and swollen lips. He coughs and hacks, his body rattling with each wave of nausea that washes over him.

A series of footsteps echo around the forest, growing quieter as the people responsible sneak further off into the dense forest. There’s a distant shout, something Keith can only barely make out, “And don’t forget it, half-breed!” If he wasn’t fighting to breathe, he’d take a moment to scoff and roll his eyes. He’s never heard that one before.

Keith carefully pushes himself up off the floor and throws himself up against the nearest tree, sighing quietly as he leans on it for support. God, he’s had it worse than this before, so why does this hurt so much?

‘Because you felt safe here,’ a small voice in his mind supplies, mocking him. ‘I guess you’re not.’

Understatement of the fucking century.

He can’t say he’s surprised. If he was able to sneak onto the ground so easily a few months ago, it’d make perfect sense that other Galra could also do it with ease. Even if a part of him always hoped that it’d never happen.

He hacks into his sleeve, ignoring the deep red stain that he knows wasn’t there a minute ago. He sighs deeply, his voice wavering as he does so. A small sheet of paper lies to his left, hastily thrown at him in the middle of the fight as his… old acquaintances fled. “That this,” He remembers one of them grunting out between the kicks that landed on Keith’s ribs, “It’s from the empire. The emperor is so worried about you, that’s why--” the man had paused to step on Keith’s arm and grind it into the dirt below – “he sent us.”

Keith doesn’t need to read the letter to know what’s on it. The Galra always act the same, no matter the circumstance. Even so, he reaches out and snatches the letter of the ground, his hands shaking as he unfolds it, allowing his eyes to drift over the parchment.

There’s a distant thudding, the clear pattern of someone sprinting through the forest. Keith doesn’t notice. He stares down at the paper. He should have expected this, it was bound to happen eventually. Play with fire and you get burned.

He hasn’t been doing his job and these are the consequences.

Keith shifts and closes his eyes, thumping his head back against the tree once. Weirdly, it makes him feel better. His entire body aches. Bruises bloom across his torso, each mark that fades from yellow the purple concealed under thick layers of cloth. The once white fabric is stained a deep, muddy shade of marron, clinging to the open wounds.

“I need more time,” Keith whispers to no one in particular. With his eyes closed tightly, he doesn’t notice Lance standing in the clearing, gawking in plain sight. If Keith would just open his eyes he’d know that Lance has been watching him for the past few minutes. But, alas, he doesn’t.

Keith rolls the paper into a tight ball, squeezing it tightly as he grits his teeth.

“They can't expect this of me. I don't know if I can do it anymore,” Keith whispers again, his head pressed against the tree with his eyes tightly scrunched. Keith pulls the paper apart from the ball he had rolled it into, smoothing the edges as his gaze drifts over the paper once more. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, it’s not like staring at the letter is going to change anything.

His face drops further -- even though it doesn’t really seem possible. He sighs deeply as his hands shake, his fingers digging into the page, creases reforming as it crumbles back in on itself. He flops down and buries his head under his arms, hiding in between his knees as his breath shakes pathetically.

The writing on the paper is messy and barely legible from this angle, the wrinkles and shadowy lines of the parchment further blurring the chicken scratch. Even so, the words burn into his skin. Keith's head hits the tree with a loud thump, his eyes closed tightly as he sighs, repeatedly thumping his head against the tree as leaves drift down to the ground around him. He flinches each time he throws his head back against the bark of the tree. He doesn’t care if it hurts.

Keith isn't crying, he’s not even close to it, but he can’t hide the raw emotion that’s constantly radiating through him. He’s sad, but he’s not going to show it. He never does.

“Keith?” Lance says, causing Keith to jump out of his skin. “Sorry I’m late, did I miss anything?” Keith messily shoves the piece of paper into his pocket, hoping that Lance wasn’t around to see any of that.

“No.” There’s a quiver in his voice, “I was just… thinking,” Keith says, his breathing evening out as he slowly stands up, his hand hovering over the pocket that hides his note.

“Oh, what about?” Keith freezes when those words leave Lance’s mouth, his entire body seizing in place. Lance clearly notices.

“I just ran into an old acquaintance today,” Keith says with a shrug, his shoulders tense. Each jittery movement is over-exaggerated and robotic. Keith’s fingers tighten around the hem of his pocket, his knuckles turning a faint shade of white.

Keith watches as Lance’s eyes trail over his body, eyes widening. Keith takes a weak step back, hoping that Lance doesn’t notice anything. It’s impossible not to notice. One of his eyebrows and his lips are split, small drops of blood dried in the gashes. There’s a bruise forming on his forehead, the edges yellow and the centre a dull lilac. The colours meddle in a painful shade of brown, a small bump quickly forming underneath his skin.

Keith shifts from leg to leg, his knee buckling under the weight of his body each time. Lance seems to notice that too. His eyes drift to Keith’s left arm lies, watching how it delicately under his ribs, cradling his diaphragm. His breaths are wheezed and rushed, rumbling in his chest with each exhale.

“Keith, what happened?” Lance says, watching how Keith wobbles on his own feet, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Nothing, I’m just tired,” Keith says, brushing Lance off again.

Lance reaches out for a moment, clenching his finger around the empty air between them. closes the gap and places his hand on Keith's shoulder. “Keith,” Lance says, pulling him harshly by his shoulder, faltering when Keith hisses loudly between gritted teeth. “You're barely able to hold yourself up, you're wheezing and you've got a bruise the size of a fucking egg on your forehead. What happened to you.” Keith opens his mouth and Lance cuts him off. "Don't you dare say you fell over, because we both know that's total bullshit." Well, there goes that plan. 

“Leave me alone, I don't want to go over this,” Keith grunts, harshly slapping Lances hand away from his shoulder.  He turns away from Lance with a sigh

“Keith, just tell me what happened,” Lance pleads again, his fists closing around Keith's jacket as he pathetically holds onto him. He pulls Keith back, silently pleading for him to stay for once.

This is always what happens, Lance pulls and Keith pushes. Lance tries to get close, to help him and Keith runs away every single time. “I don’t need your help!” Keith says, pushing Lance backwards. He doesn’t need anything from anyone.

“Just tell me what happened! I can see that you’re limping Keith, I’m not blind!” Keith stops walking, his arms wrapping around himself as he hobbles in place.

“You really want to know?” Keith suddenly swings around to face Lance, ripping Lances hand away yet again in the process. “Fine.” Keith is angry. Angry that Lance won’t leave him alone. Angry that this happened. Angry that Lance has to see him like this. Angry that he’s forced to open up to Lance.

Angry that he can’t help himself from opening up.

Keith laughs bitterly at Lance’s shocked expression. This certainly isn’t what he wished for when he jokingly complained that ‘Keith should be more emotional’ around him.

 “I was walking through the forest alone because I was trying to find you. You were late to training so I was worried, okay?! I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t fucking help it!!” Lance’s expression warps into something Keith’s never seen before. Sad, angry, shocked, confused, sad again. Keith watches as emotions flicker through Lance at an almost comical pace. Keith can only imagine what he must be thinking right now.

Still, why is he admitting this? He could just say that he was going for a stroll and got jumped, Lance would be none the wiser. He didn’t have to admit to Lance that, deep down, he cares.

Keith continues anyway, “Then, I was ambushed, I tried to fight them off but they-they were stronger than me. They pinned me down and attacked, I couldn’t fight them off and no one else was there."

Lance doesn’t say anything, he just stands there, mouth open in shock. Lance has never been one to hide in emotions. He’s bereft and a million different levels of pissed off all at the same time, that Keith can tell.

Keith never thought silence could be deafening, yet here he is, wishing nothing more than to rewind and go back to when they were laughing in this forest a few days ago. “Was it...random?” Lance finally asks, cutting the silence between them.

“No, I knew them,” Keith says in a small voice, sighing at the end of his sentence with a weak and empty shrug, his head hanging low as he talks. Even then, his hand doesn't leave the side of his ribcage.

Lance flies forward, acting on instinct as he tightly grips Keith's shoulders. “I’ll get Shiro, we’ll get them arrested, okay? They’ll get locked in the dungeon for this, we’ll get you justice-” Lance rambles, his mind flying at a million miles an hour, even if all of his thoughts revolve around the singular idea of revenge.

“No!” Keith suddenly yells, interrupting Lance mid-monologue. “No, no way. I just want to forget any of this ever happened, okay?” Bringing this to Shiro would only arouse suspicion. No one can know why they were really there.

“Keith, you can’t let them get away with it…” Lance says slower, his voice soft as he talks to Keith.

“Yes, I can. It’s my fault for not being strong enough. I just want to go to the castle and clean up, okay?”

“Keith, it’s not your fault. That’s like blaming someone for getting stabbed because they didn’t walk around in full knight armour.” Lance pauses. “What was I just saying to you before?” Lance says. Keith glances shyly between Lance and the ground. He knows what Lance wants him to say… but is he really going to make him say it? God, this is humiliating.

“That I need to accept help, more specifically from you,” Keith says slowly, the tiniest, grim smile making its way across his lips.

“Exactly, so do that. Let me help you, what happens if they do it again? What happens if they kill you next time? What happens if they kill someone else?” Lance asks, his hand trailing down to Keith’s arm, carefully wrapping his hand around the boy’s wrist.

“I can’t, you don’t understand. I can’t,” Keith vehemently insists, yet again trying to pull away from Lance.

Lance sighs slowly and lets go of Keith’s wrist, smiling bitterly. “Fine, I won’t talk to Shiro. But, I’m going to talk to Coran and get him to assign some more guards around this area of the castle grounds.” Keith sighs but doesn’t fight it any further, his shoulders slumping over slightly as he grumbles under his breath.

“Okay…”

“Uh, would it be weird if I hugged you?” Lance suddenly asks.

His first instinct is an immediate and resounding ‘NO’. He doesn’t want Lance to hug him, not now and not ever. But as the seconds' tick by the idea seems more and more appealing. It’s just one hug, right? If he says yes, that’ll get Lance off his back. At least for a while.

Plus, he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it occasionally. “Yeah, that’d be… fine.”

Lance doesn’t need to be told twice, apparently. He steps toward and wraps his arms around Keith, tight enough that their bodies are pressed together but not so tight that he hurts the already injured boy. Keith stiffens up momentarily. This is weird, this is weird. He’s the enemy Keith! His brain chants, alarm bells going off in every section of his mind.

When Lance places his hand on the small of Keith’s back and gently tugs him together, he practically melts. Dear god, this is nice. Is this why people are so obsessed with hugs? He thinks, resting his head on Lance’s shoulder, his breath evening out. The alarm bells keep ringing, but Keith chooses to ignore them. He feels calm.  

“You’re uh… really soft.” Never mind, the tranquillity is gone. Keith practically jumps out of his skin when Lance barely whispers that in his ear.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lance jumps away, keeping his hands-on Keith’s shoulder as he frantically sputters out half strung together sentences. His cheeks exploding in a bright shade of crimson.

“I… did not mean to say that! It’s just like you’re softer than I first thought you would be…” Lance’s eyes widen, to an almost frightening extent. “N-not that he thought about it m-much!! It’s just like… w-with how easily he put me on his ass during training… I always kind of guessed you were like all muscle and stuff. Like, it’d be like hugging a rock or something.”

“Um… thanks?”

“Yeah! It’s just that you’re like super huggable! Take it as a compliment,” Lance says, stumbling over his own words as he fumbles his way to a somewhat valid excuse. “Also, your hair smells like lemon,” Lance says before he can stop himself. He imminently looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Finally, Keith breaks. He bursts out laughing, his ribs ache with each wheezed breath but he can’t help it. Keith leans forward, clutching his sides as his eyes scrunch up tightly. He takes in loud, gasped breaths between fits of laughter, occasionally snorting when he tries to breathe through his nose. He laughs and laughs, until his lungs burn, eyes water and smile refuses to fade. Butterflies and hornets wreak havoc in his stomach. 

Keith won’t admit it, but for once, he’s letting Lance past his walls. At least partly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of your amazing comments! It means the world to both of us!!
> 
> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out. <3
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. <3


	7. The Galra's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is the note that Keith was reading in the last chapter! You'll understand why he was so desperate to hide it last time once you've read this.

_Keith,_

 

_We sincerely apologise for the manner in which you received this letter. If we’re correct, some old acquaintances should have had a… rather strongly worded conversation with you before giving you this letter. You see, they did what they did to you because they’re actually doing their job. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said for yourself._

_What happened today was, simply put, a taste of what the Empire has in store for you if you don’t complete this simple task. Your old acquaintance went easy on you, but we can’t guarantee that the people we send next time will do the same. The people we assign to delivering mail have become more and more aggressive lately, we can only assume they’ll escalate further by the time we’re forced to send you another message._

_It would be truly... unfortunate if you were to suffer greater injuries next time, but sadly we can’t control what our people do. We’re sure you understand that._

_We’re warning you about this because the empire cares for you, Keith. We’re your friends, your family! Your loyalties lie with us and with the empire. Do not forget that. _

_We have received word from operatives in the area that Princess Allura is still very much alive, surely you can understand how that is a problem for us. This is a strong warning to get your job done, we’ve been more than understanding up until now with how long this has taken you, but we are reaching our limit._

_Lord Zarkon would like you to know that he didn’t want to send those guards after you, but it needed to be done. It hurts him to hurt you, but you needed to be reminded of who’s in control here. He knows you’ll understand._

_Please remember that before you took you under our wings and raised you like a son of our own, you were starving on the streets. We gave you food, water and shelter. This quest is simply your way to repay your debt to us._

_You have a choice to make. Kill Allura and remain loyal to the Empire that fed you, clothed you and protected your for your entire life, bring peace to our nation and free thousands of tortured souls from that heinous Princess. Or become traitor to your kingdom and spare the Princesses life, in which case we’ll be forced to take yours as retribution. This is a fairly obvious choice, but because we love you, we’re letting you make that choice. _

_Allura is cruel and unforgiving, don’t think for a second that she’d spare your life just because you spared hers. If she finds out that you’re loyal to us, she’ll kill you before you even have a chance to run. We hate to think that you’d even be considering warning someone as vile as her. Everyone in that castle is just as diabolical as she is, don’t let them fool you. They may appear to care at first glance, but it’s simply an act._

_Now, it is in your best interest to destroy this letter at the earliest opening, if anyone were to find this… you could understand how that would look for you. Remember where your loyalties lie, soldier. Emperor Zarkon is counting on you, the whole empire is. Don’t you dare let us down. _

 

_Humbly yours,_

_The Galra Empire._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too.


	8. Singed Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, you can find information about the time/place this story is set [over on my Tumbr!](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/post/176110521324/hi-sorry-can-you-tell-what-time-and-place-pick)  
> It's just some nerdy stuff about how this story isn't set in modern times and some general information about when/where it's set. If that interests you, please go check it out! (It's only like 100/150 words).

Keith hisses harshly through gritted teeth, flinching as a small cotton ball is pressed to his wound. “Stop, I don’t need you to do this,” Keith grunts, biting back another sound of displeasure as Lance merely pushes down harder with the cotton ball.

“You’re just being a big baby and we both know it. It’s just a little bit of alcohol.” Doesn’t matter what it is, it stings like a bitch. Keith is sitting on his bed, his tunic and trousers folded neatly next to him with Lance sitting on a small stool across from him, hand shakily pressed against the countless cuts and scratches that span his chest. The usual array of Lance’s junk that litters their shared bedside table has been unceremoniously dumped on the floor and replaced with whatever first-aid materials Lance could get his hands on. It’s an absurd image really.

Back in the forest, Keith hid how badly his overshirt -- and by extension, his torso -- was ripped by wrapping himself tightly in his cloak. Let’s just stay Lance flipped his shit when he saw Keith hang his cloak up on this bed frame out of habit. His tunic was torn beyond repair, and long rips spanning the entire surface of his white linen shirt. Well, it wasn’t quite white. It’s more of a dirty grey and faded brownish-red shirt now.

Lance dips the cotton ball into some water, the water quickly turning a light shade of red, before he dunks in back into alcohol. He lets it drip for a moment before he presses it back against the gash. “Ah!” Keith hisses again, his body jerking backwards away from Lance. The bleeding stopped ages ago, hell, he stopped bleeding before Lance even found him in the forest. Keith may be oblivious towards most aspects of everyday life, but he at least knows how to quickly patch up a wound with next to no medical supplies. Lance wasn’t too happy to see his half-assed attempt at making bandages using fabric from his sleeves.

“Dude, I’m not letting this get infected. Allura will have my head if she finds out this even happened. Let alone that I left you to deal with this on your own.” For some reason, a part of Keith shrinks at that response. There’s this bubbling feeling in his gut; it’s an unpleasant sensation of… God knows what, honestly. It makes him feel heavy. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your collarbone, you know that, right?” Lance scolds for the umpteenth time, a barely visible scowl on his lips as he glares down at Keith’s injuries. Honestly, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if the fire in his glare somehow cauterized his wounds.

Honestly, this entire scenario should feel weirder than it does. Keith is quite literally on his bed in nothing but his linen drawers while Lance regularly brushes his hands all over basically every strip of exposed skin. It should be, but it’s really not. There’s something oddly calming about it? He can’t quite understand why, but he doesn’t really want to. That’d probably just raise more questions than it would answer. Yeah, he’s not going to open that barrel of worms.

“Chastising aside, how are you feeling?” Lance says with a warm smile. It’s only small, the corners of his mouth just tipping up as his eyes stay trained on Keith’s torso. He talks without ever looking up; he’s always focused on the task at hand, whether that’s wrapping bandages or disinfecting wounds. He finally finishes wrapping up Keith’s chest, leaning back so he can finally sit on the stool with a satisfied sigh.

“I’m fine. I know I told you I lied there and took the beating, but it wasn’t even that bad. You said it yourself, I didn’t break anything,” Keith says, watching Lance idly as he works. “Once the initial ache wears off, I’ll be fine.”

“There wouldn’t even be an initial ache if I had anything to do with it,” Lance mumbles under his breath. He turns to the table next to him and starts to unroll another strip of white bandages.

“It’s fine. You only would have gotten your ass kicked too if you were there.” Lance slowly wraps the bandages around Keith’s bicep, covering the swollen gash. “I’m happy you weren’t dragged into it. I really wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.” Lance flinches, pulling sharply on the strip of cloth between his hands, tightening the bandage to the point of almost cutting circulation. He makes an inhuman squeaking noise as he flushes a deep red, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. Well, that’s new.

Keith furrows his brows in confusion as Lance drops his head, refusing to make eye contact as his fringe hangs down in a curtain across his face. Keith can’t quite make out his expression, it’s eerily blank -- aside from the sea of red that spans across the bridge of his nose.

“Did I say something wrong?” Keith says slowly, almost asking himself the question too. He only meant that he didn’t want Lance to get hurt because it’d be an inconvenience. Surely, that didn’t hurt his feelings. He’s just being objective, having one person out of commission is favourable to having two people in that position. It’s simple math.

Well, at least he thinks he meant it that way. Honestly, he hasn’t really been able to trust his own brain as of late. “N-No! I’m fine!” Lance squeaks, clearing his throat loudly as he goes back to wrapping the bandage on Keith’s arm; or more accurately, unwrapping it so Keith’s blood can actually circulate again. He tucks the loose end of the bandage in between the other layers, checking if it’s secure with a gentle tug.

Lance is tense as he repeats the process, his shoulder tight and arms barely bent. The bandages get progressively messier as he rushes through it, the strips twisted and tangled rather than nearly layered. Of course, his apparent rush to get as far away from Keith backfires when his eyes trail over his ‘masterpiece’, which is more a bloody mess of cotton strips strewn across his arm than a delicately layered covering. He huffs under his breath and undoes the bandaging, throwing it over his shoulder as he mumbles incoherently. He pulls out another roll of bandaging and rewraps Keith’s arm, this time being careful not to speed through it like an absolute moron.

“Huh, you’re actually pretty good at this,” Keith says without much thought as he rolls his shoulder forward, inspecting the gauze. He flexes his arm slowly, repeatedly straightening and bending his arm at the elbow with a satisfied hum, the bandaging never once slipping or unravelling. He gently tugs on the dressing around his stomach, pleased as the gauze barely even shifts, the cotton strands stretching out before snapping right back into place. “Thanks.”

Keith looks away from his arm when he’s satisfied, his shoulders slumping back down as he looks up at Lance. Okay, either Keith is going crazy or Lance is somehow flushed an even deeper red. Lance stares for a long moment as cogs turn loudly in his head, his gaze blank. Suddenly his eyes widen and his head snaps downward, whatever train of thought  he was going down coming to a screeching halt.

Lance coughs loudly into his fist and clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal. My sister was in medical training, so I always let her practice on me. I just picked stuff up over the years, so like it’s not a problem or anything...” His words trail off into an indistinguishable mumble towards the end of the sentence, his eyes darting around the room as he stumbles his way through a response, somehow tripping over every word.

“You’re acting weirder than usual, and that’s saying something,” Keith says with a light laugh, finally stretching out his aching bones with a satisfying crack.

“Hey! Rude,” Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes even as he laughs alongside Keith, the tension melting out of his body. He idly starts packing up the supplies, re-corking bottles and wrapping up the rest of the bandages that lie across their bedside table. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” Lance suddenly announces, his clap of realisation muffled by the strips of cloth he’s wrapping between his fingers.

Keith hums in response, only really half listening as he continues to stretch out his sore limbs. What can he say? He’s gotten more than his fair share of ass-whoopings in his life, thus he knows how important it is to stretch afterwards -- lest he aggravates his injuries further. He’s basically an expert when it comes to getting his ass handed to him.

“I was talking to Hunk and Pidge earlier today, they’re probably going to come around on Thursday,” Lance says, finally closing the wooden box with a quiet snap, the half-empty bottles of alcohol and medicine jostling around in it as he does so. Keith freezes, his arms locked above his head, clothes hanging loosely in his outstretched arms.

“Who?” he asks, still frozen in place.

“Oh, right you don’t know them yet. They’re from the bakery, Pidge actually invented -- or at least built -- every machine in the bakery, while Hunk, obviously, bakes everything,” Lance says with a loose shrug, “They’re really nice and they want to meet yo- Allura. Yeah, they want to meet Princess Allura.” Keith quirks an eyebrow for what feels like the fifteen time today, shooting Lance a confused look as he pulls his tunic over his head.

“Right, well, I’m sure you won’t mind if I opt out of that, it sounds pretty cumbersome.” Ha, yeah, no. There’s no way in hell he’s exposing himself to another person (people?), not after how easily Lance seemed to rip past the countless walls he put up. He can’t risk letting another person get that close to him.

Well, it’s ironic really. Most people would argue that the two of them aren’t even that close -- and he’d be the first to agree -- but, this is a massive deal for him. The idea of having someone that relies on him and genuinely enjoys his company is so much more than he ever had back with the Galra. He’s indifferent to other people, and that means his boundaries are all out of whack.

Even asking what his favourite colour is crosses a line.

It’s stupid, but it’s how he is. Nothing can change that, and he doesn’t want anything to change, honestly.

“O-oh, well! You’ll have to come because…” Lance pauses for a second before snapping his fingers with a light gasp. “Because! You’ll have to be there to protect the princess! Who knows if Hunk will try and kill her?”

Keith deadpans with an unamused stare. “If you thought Hunk was even the slightest bit of a threat you wouldn’t invite him, not to mention that’s quite literally Takashi’s job.” Lance shoots him a look that can only be described as something resembling a kicked puppy, his bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout. “No, I’m not going to meet your friends. I’ll go train or something.” The idea of going out of his way to meet new people seemed completely and utterly unnecessary (and rather frivolous if he’s being honest).

“Come on, please! Princess Allura will want you there, if not for protection… just to clean up afterwards?”

“Trying to convince me to go to something that I don’t want to go to… with work, isn’t going to work.” Heh, convincing him with work isn’t going to work.  _ Nice _ . As Keith laughs internally at his own joke, Lance puffs out his cheeks and places his hands on his hips, jutting his hip out as he taps his foot in annoyance.

A spark ignites behind Lance’s irises, a burning determination in the blue depths of his eyes. The very burning determination that seems to grow into an all-consuming inferno whenever Lance gets a stupid idea. The very inferno that pushes him to try and do somersaults off of the castle roof and into the lake below.

The very look that was most certainly likely responsible for the broken window that Keith had to spend all day repairing.

It’s a stare that Keith has very quickly grown to both hate and admire, the hatred being the stronger of the two emotions, of course. “Fine, I didn’t want to do this, Keith. But, you leave me no choice.” Oh god, what wicked plan has he whipped up now?

“And what exactly is that?” Keith drawls in an unamused fashion, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m taking your knives,” Lance declares in an overzealous manner, seeming much too proud of himself like he’s discovered Keith’s one weak spot. His Galra Kryptonite, if you will. “Consider them confiscated until you agree to come with me!”

“Let me get this straight… you want to take my knives.” A strong nod from Lance. “Because I won’t go meet your baker friend and a nerdy inventor.” Another nod. “And you’ll only give them back if I go?”

“That’s the basic gist of it, yeah.”

“Well, gee! I guess I have to go now! You’ve outsmarted me yet again!” Keith layers on the sarcasm thick, yet it somehow flies completely over Lance’s head. No matter how much Keith sounds like a villain straight from one of those comedic plays Princess Allura likes to watch.

“Really?!” Lance more or less looks like a child on Christmas, his face lighting up in a colourful explosion of emotion.

“No,” Keith deadpans.

Lances face drops almost as fast as it lit up mere moments ago, practically whining as Keith remains stone-cold. What can he say, he’s a man of iron will. That and he’s just petty as fuck.

“Take my knives. I’ll just practice some more unarmed combat. My stance has been wonky lately, anyway.” Keith says as he takes a rather sloppy stance, his legs bent under him as he leans back, throwing a gentle ‘one, two,’ punch in the empty air between them, throwing the punches to miss Lance.

“Honestly, you’re impossible. Okay, what about this.” Keith quirks an eyebrow but otherwise listens. “You come with me to meet Hunk and Pidge, and I’ll be on stable duty for the next week.” Now that’s an offer Keith can’t refuse. No shovelling horse shit for a week?! Good things really do come to those who wait -- or at least piss off their roommate for long enough.

“Okay, I come with you to meet Punk and Hidge, but I can’t promise I’ll be particularly… outgoing.” He may just stand in a corner with his arms crossed, but hey, at least he’ll be in the room.

“That was to be expected, plus this is a win in my books, so really, I’m cool. Lance: 1, Keith: 0.” Lance makes the numbers using his fingers just to add insult to injury, curling his hand into a zero before thrusting it forward towards Keith with a loud whoop.

Keith scoff and swats his hand away, “Okay, try telling me that when you’re cleaning up after Red tomorrow,”

“Also, their names are HUNK and PIDGE. If you ruin our relationship if them, I may just stab you.” Lance draws out the syllables of the names, pausing between each as he over-enunciates each vowel.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Keith waves him off with almost no interest in the actual conversation.

“Okay, sweet. I’m going to go and return these to Coran,” He jostles the box in his hands and he gestures towards the door behind him. “I’ll be back in like ten minutes, and you better be here when I return. We’ve got some cleaning to do, so don’t you dare ditch me!” Lance yells over his shoulder as he walks into the hallway.

It’s almost as if the light follows after Lance as he leaves the room, the Aura of ease fading away in an instant. Suddenly the weight of the single sheet of paper in Keith’s pocket is unbearable. His skin crawls as the paper quietly crinkles with each minuscule movement of his body. Within the split second frame of Lance leaving, the weight of the paper suddenly shifts to something akin to iron, weighing down on every part of his being.

What feels like a million threads of blood-red string burst out from under his bed, and countless strands of red twine wrap around his wrists and ankles like vines, the rope coiling around his neck. He’s pulled around like a limp doll, his hand shooting into his pocket as his fist clenching around the crumpled sheet of paper. His body is acting with one clear thought,  _ Destroy and obey. _

Like a marionette pulled around by a puppet master, his body acts on its own. The strings tighten around his neck as they muffle any thought of disobedience and mangle his free-will. Keith obeys silently, simply following orders as his eyes scan over the text. The Galra want him to destroy the letter. He has to follow orders, there isn’t a second option. There never has been. 

The ropes aren’t real, but they feel just the same. He can almost feel the air slowly seep out of his lungs; he can feel the virtual tug of a puppet master that’s never physically there; yet, they never leave his mind either. The strings are unyielding around his body, twisting and turning all throughout, a constant reminder of the days he really did spend tied up as a prisoner. 

The bandages around his arms and legs burn into his flesh, an almost perfect imitation of the tight winding of thick ropes. It’s a feeling his body won’t ever forget. Keith used to spend days (Weeks? Months? He could never tell) hanging miserably in the dungeons --all because he snuck some extra food, or fought back during the countless beatings. Stupid rookie errors that they quickly beat out of him; flaws in his nature that needed to be wiped out. 

On the now empty table sits a single candle, its light flickering as the flame glows a bright yellow. The paper glows a dull orange in return as he holds the parchment close to the fire, the light reflecting off of it like a warning. The room vaguely smells of singed vellum as the flame licks eagerly at the edges of the sheet, almost burning it without ever igniting it.   


The margins of the paper slowly start to curve in on themselves, long streaks of brown and black beginning to grow and spread along the once off-white piece of parchment. The fire barely makes any progress along the letter before there’s a quiet and rhythmic tapping from outside, a clear pattern of footsteps trailing outside from the hall.

Keith scrambles, his hand frozen in place as the imagined ropes of his past pull tighter and tighter, desperately holding his arm above the flame. The ink begins to evaporate ever so slowly; any second now and the paper will ignite. The thumping grows louder and louder, the occasional unrhythmic skip in the person’s step… is Lance really skipping down the hallway?

At that mere thought, the ropes loosen, unwinding as they fall away from his body. Air rushes back into his lungs as he snaps out of his daze. Keith rips his hand away from the flame, his fingers clamping around his neck as the smoldering letter falls from his grasp. It drifts under Keith’s bed down to the wooden floor, going entirely unnoticed as it nestles itself next to Keith’s trunk at the very back, utterly shrouded in darkness. Keith’s fingers run across the expanse of his neck in a frantic haze, the clear lack of swollen rope burns or the tough fibres of twine sending shocks of relief through his body.

He’s fine. Nothing like that is going to happen again. It was just his mind playing tricks on him; it’s always his mind playing tricks. Almost to prove his own point, Keith lifts his hand up and touches his nose briefly, his finger hovering just above the bridge. It’s stupid, but it’s something he always does to remind himself that he’s the only one in control of his own body. 

“Hey, I’m ba--” Lance pushes open the door, his nose scrunching up in disgust as he looks around. “Why do I smell burning?” Lance says slowly, his eyes drifting across the room.

Keith shrugs, feigning innocence. “I dunno, one of the cooks probably just burnt something. I don’t smell anything,” He says as he sits on the bed calmly, trying his best to ignore the final suspicious look Lance gives him. Thankfully, Lance takes his response at face value and doesn’t bother to push further.

“It’s probably just because I’m smokin’ hot.”  Keith has to physically restrain himself from groaning and promptly hitting his head on the closest wall.

“Orrrr,” Keith drawls in a teasing manner, “it’s because you set your shirt on fire again,” he says as he pushes himself up off the bed, walking out the door with his hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“HEY! It was one time! ONE TIME, KEITH!!” Lance yells, stomping closely behind Keith.

“Right,” Keith says with an eye roll. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Basically the ball is growing ever closer, and Princess Allura wants us to do some final preparation,” Lance shrugs, sounding completely and utterly bored. “Such as checking the castle’s inventory and getting anything else we need.”

“ _ Thrilling _ ,” Keith grumbles.

“Truly,” Lance agrees, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I know a way we can make it fun, though!”

“And how is that?”

“I’LL RACE YOU THERE!!” Lance exclaims before sprinting away, cackling as he flies down the hall. He turns around and smirks at Keith, who’s frozen in place. “ LAST ONE THERE HAS TO EXPLAIN TO SHIRO WHY THE WINDOW IS BROKEN!!”

“Did you seriously break anoth- Lance! GET BACK HERE!!” Keith takes off after him. “YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT AND THEN RUN OFF!!” Keith hurtles after Lance, faking annoyance, even as he laughs loudly. As he sprints down the hall, dodging mice and chairs, a small piece of red rope slips off of his ankle, disintegrating in the corridor behind him. The Galra Empire suddenly feels nonexistent in his thoughts, the idea of his ‘mission’ quietly drifting away alongside it.

His body and mind alike are consumed by an all-consuming feeling, one that surges through his bloodstream and twists in his gut. In the momentary absence of the fear and regret that the Galrans so deeply ingrained into him, something new imprints itself in his consciousness.

It’s such a small-scale shift in Keith’s way of understanding that under the constant rush of adrenaline, it goes absolutely unnoticed by him. However, the thought takes root; it digs deep into his psyche, the very core of who he is; who he wants to be. The thought echoes through his head as a faint whisper, barely audible even to those listening for it. 

_ ‘Lance’. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. (They honestly save my butt with their A+ editing)


	9. One glass too many

“ _ Keith!  _ My sweet princess, please arise from your slumber, your prince has arrived.” Keith groans and rolls over, pulling on his pillow as he slams it over his ears. “ _ Keithy-boy!  _ The sun is up, so we should be, too!” Keith simply grunts louder in response, screwing his eyes shut tighter as he tries to block out the rest of the world. The thin folds of fabric that cover the window are violently pulled back, and light finally floods into the room without the obstruction of the brownish-white cotton curtains.

_ “Just five more minutes _ … I was up so late helping you cleeaann,” he groans again, his sleep-deprived brain melting into a pile of mush.

“Nope! If I’m up, you should be too! I’m not doing this alone,” Lance says as he pulls Keith's blanket off of him, the boy in question curling into a ball as the cold air rushes against his bare legs. Lance has always been more of a morning person… Keith? Not so much.

“Doing what exactly?” Keith asks, finally rolling over with a glare sharp enough to cut steel. His black hair is a mess of curls and tangled in a thousand different knots. Massive bags hang under his eyes as Keith sits up, his posture loose and messy. His shoulders are slumped forward as his wrinkled undershirt hangs messily off one of his shoulders.

“Preparing for Hunk and Pidge, of course! They’re visiting today,” Lance sings, spinning around on the hardwood floors, his shoes grinding against the ground with a loud and prolonged squeak. Keith exhales noisily, flopping back onto the bed in a miserable state. Maybe a week off chores wasn’t worth it after all.

Then again, the idea of Lance getting kicked by Red because he brushed her in the wrong place sounds hilarious. Let’s just say it took Keith a good week to work out that Red hates anyone brushing her tail -- Unlike Yellow, who’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t braid her tail each morning.

“Come on Keith, it’s not that bad. They’re really nice, I swear!” Lance says with a wide smile, grabbing Keith by the ankles as he pulls, dragging a complaining Keith off his bed. Keith lets himself get dragged, leaving his arms above him as his body trails down the bed, eventually down onto the ground below with a loud thud. “I swear, you’re too lazy for your own good.” Usually, Keith would disagree, but he’s currently face down on the floor and can’t really talk without getting a mouth full of dust.

He pushes himself up with his arms, jumping back onto the balls of his feet as he hauls himself up, his legs straightening as his torso slowly loosens up, his arms trailing up his legs as he does so. He sighs and finally stands up from his bent position, stretching his back out as he leans back, his eyes closest tightly as he yawns.

He turns around with a quiet sigh, slowly shaking the sleep off his bones as he faces Lance. Lance looks like he’s about to scream, a subtle blush painting his cheeks as his eyes remain the size of saucers, his pupils trained on Keith nonetheless. Keith furrowed his eyebrows but otherwise shrugs it off, however, that doesn’t mean he misses the chance to get in some good ol’ fashioned mockery. “Cat got your tongue?” Keith settles on, not too sure about why Lance is staring, nor why he’s so pink.

Lance lets out a sound somewhere between a scream and a sob, his eyes somehow growing wider as his face flushes a deeper red, the flush spreading to the crooks of his collarbones. “What! No! WHAT GAVE YOU THAT IDEA?!”

“Whoa, chill out, Lance,” Keith says, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. “I’m just teasing, sorry if you can dish it but can’t take it,” he adds with a small wink, poking his tongue out as he grabs his clothes from their shared closet, rifling through their draws as he pulls out a clean shirt. He’s still getting used to the idea of having clean clothes every day.

He spins on his heels and walks towards their bathroom, his clothes clutched in his hand as he crosses the room, Lance still sputtering various excuses, steam practically wafting from him. “A-And where are you going?!” he accuses, stumbling messily over his sentences as he fumes.

“The bathroom, where do you think?” Keith says with a small scoff, turning around as he walks backward, making eye contact with Lance. “Unless you’d prefer for me to get changed out here?”

Lance simultaneously flips Keith off, screams and flushes about fifteen different shades of red. Nice. Keith snorts loudly and turns back around, closing the bathroom door behind him. Lance is still yelling from the other side of the door, spewing bullshit excuses about why he’d never want to see Keith change. It’s hilarious in all the best ways.

“FURTHERMORE, I MAY LIKE GIRLS AND GUYS BUT I DEFINITELY  DON’T LIKE GUYS WITH MULLETS!!”

Keith scoffs but otherwise ignores Lance’s screeching. He pulls his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, adjusting the cufflinks as he does so. He straightens his tunic down, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with his fingers, brushing his hair out from under the collar of the shirt with a quiet sigh. God, it’s still too early for this. He slowly laces up the shirt, working on muscle memory alone as his mind drifts elsewhere. How long has he even been here now? Days are blurring into weeks, and time just seems to be constantly slipping through his fingers.

This is his biggest mission ever, and he can’t seem to get it done. Hell, he walked into Allura’s room when she was alone yesterday to deliver something and didn’t even think about taking the chance. Man, he’s really pathetic, isn’t he?

Whatever, there’s nothing he can do about that, is there? He quickly gives himself a once-over in the mirror, the cracks seemingly growing bigger each day. The mirror is going to shatter sometime soon. He doesn’t know when, but when it does he’s going to have to clean up all the mess. His hand runs over one of the spiderweb-like cracks spreading out from the corners, covering at least half of the clouded mirror. He pushes himself away, turning around as he opens the door, stepping back into his room. “Okay, what’s on the agenda before  _ Punk  _ and  _ Hidge _ show up, or whatever?”

“Keith, I know that you know their names, stop being a pain,” Lance deadpans, leaving Keith to snicker under his breath. “And Princess Allura gave us the day off. She’s even letting us take some food from the kitchen and stuff! She’s going to stop down whenever she can to say ‘hi’, but she’s pretty busy today.” Keith nods as they walk out into the hall, his hands still brushing over his shirt out of habit, checking for wrinkles or dirt.

“Oh. cool, what time are they coming around?” Keith says, trying to at least act excited for this whole debacle.

“I dunno, sometime around lunch or dinner?” Lance says as his eyes drift upwards as he talks, his tone unsure.

“YOU WOKE ME UP AT THE BUTTCRACK OF DAWN JUST TO TELL ME  _ YOU DON’T KNOW?! _ ” Keith yells, Lance nodding in confirmation. “This is the last time I let you organise something. Ever.” Keith buries his head in his hands, his blood pressure instantly spiking to probably unhealthy levels.

“It’s fineee, just go to the kitchen and get some bread and random munchies, I’ll go down to the cellar and get some wine. They’ll get here when they get here,” Lance says, only walking a few steps before Keith’s hand catches on the back of his shirt, holding him in place.

“I’m sorry, did you say wine?”

“Yeah, the reddish stuff that gets you drunk? Oh god, don’t tell me you’ve never had that either,” Lance says, his eyes dropping to an annoyed (and fond) stare as Keith sheepishly laughs, looking away with a gentle nod.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” Keith says, phrasing it like a question with a soft laugh, a familiar heat spreading across his body as his cheeks flush a light pink. Curse his pale skin, he blushes way too easily.

“Yeah, I guess so. Just, don’t get shit faced; you probably don’t know how to handle alcohol,” Lance jokingly teases before turning to an adjacent hall, eventually walking down a long flight of stone stairs and disappearing into the darkness of the wine cellar.

Keith snaps his gaze away from the now empty corridor and makes his way towards the kitchen with a quiet hum, his hands in his pockets as he takes in his surroundings. How bad can wine be? He’s never actually come into contact with the stuff, but it can’t be as bad as the ale that commoners drink. If kings and queens alike drink it, it’s probably a pleasant fruity drink… it’s made from grapes, right?

Then again he’s never actually seen anyone drunk off of it, nor anyone drunk off anything. God knows what the stuff does to you, but it’s probably not that bad. Plus, Keith can handle it. He’s fought off people twice his size, he can handle some old grape juice.

Keith steps into the kitchen, rummaging around for whatever he can get his hands on like some kind of scavenger. He places various pieces of bread and biscuits on the table above him as he stays crouched down by the cupboard, looking through several barrels and shelves. There are various jars of pickled vegetables, and honestly, he can’t stand the smell. However, the contents are mostly dried ingredients; spices and such. But, as far as prepared food goes, the cabinets are pretty much bare. Most meals are made a few hours before dinner and without any way to store the leftovers, they’re either give to the animals or simply thrown away -- well, there aren’t many leftovers to begin with and you can thank Lance for that.

Keith hums as he stands back up, closing the cupboard. He quickly looks through the ice boxes, a cold blast of air hitting his face as he opens the wooden lid, the thick layers of metal on the inside of the box feeling cold to the touch. The cork and sawdust between the layers of wood and metal are still holding strong, but the ice on the inside is quickly dwindling down to something half of the size it was three days ago. He hums and dumps out the collected water into the sink, then places the basin back under the spout to collect any other melted ice.

The icebox itself mirrors something like a closet, the doors swinging open to reveal various chilled goods rather than clothing. Everything sits neatly on shelves, the ice cooling each compartment down to temperatures only found during the winter. Princess Allura said they’re allowed anything, right?

Yeah, she’ll be fine if he takes some cheese; she has her own cows after all. It’s not like they won’t be able to get the chefs to make some more. He pulls out a small wrapped ball, brown paper and twine carefully wrapped around the cream cheese in the centre of it all. It’s a large, cylindrical, patty-like slice, the off-white cheese covered in a thin layer of dried basil leaves. He places it on the tray next to the bread, pulling out a few other kinds of cheese and butter while he’s at it.

He makes quick work of cutting up the bread and placing it neatly on a wooden platter, the cheeses arranged perfectly on a china plate. Hey, you learn a lot about presentation when you work in a castle, even if you’re not one of the many cooks. He throws the paper in a nearby bin on the way out, carefully carrying the trays in his arm as he makes his way towards the dining room.

He balances carefully, his arms staying perfectly level as he walks, his eyes laser-focused on the trays resting on his forearms. If he drops this he’s actually going to cry; everything on this tray is probably more expensive than everything he owned back in the Galra Empire. Hell, he even cut up some fresh fruit for Hunk and Pidge (and himself, because he wants to at least enjoy something about this meeting).

“Hey!” Lance calls, startling Keith half to death as he flinches, the trays wobbling slightly in his arms. He quickly adjusts his stance and continues on his way. “Hunk and Pidge just got here! They’re a bit early, hope you don’t mind!” Lance calls from the next room, the dining room hidden behind a pair of massive wooden doors.

“Nah! It’s all good!” he calls back, lifting up one leg as he kicks open the door with a loud creak, pressing his back against the door, pushing with his back to open the rest as he slips through the gap. The door swings shut behind him the second his back isn’t pressed against it, and the air that’s forced through blows against his arms.

He looks at the table. Two strangers sit neatly in the chairs next to each other, their arms folded on the tabletop as they sit there, staring at the wall across from them. The smaller one -- who he assumes to be Pidge -- has thick glasses, her hair cut into a messy bob that curls up at the edges, spiking out at odd angles. She’s incredibly short and scrawny without looking malnourished or sickly.

The person next to Pidge is almost the polar opposite of his friend. His darker skin contrasts against the yellow headband he’s got wrapped around his hair. He’s strong, frighteningly so, almost to the point of striking fear into Keith's heart, because, yeah this dude could probably snap him like a toothpick. He can only naturally assume it’s from lugging around bags of flour and not… like, killing people for fun.  **_Please let it be the first one._ **

The seat adjacent from them is pulled away from the table like someone got up in a rush. It’s at this moment where Keith notices the very clear absence of Lance. That is until he hears a battle cry from his left, “SURPRISE ATTACK!!” He turns to see Lance sprinting at him like his life depends on it, a wide smile on his face as he forfeits the element of surprise.

Keith steps back cleanly, pulling the trays away from Lance as he sticks out his foot. Lance sprints towards him, stumbling when his foot catches on his outstretched leg. Keith takes that moment to spin around so he’s behind Lance and kicks his feet out from under him in one swift movement. While Lance is caught off guard he presses his foot into his chest, pinning the Cuban boy under him without so much as breaking a sweat. 

“New lesson: yelling ‘Surprise attack!’ completely negates the advantage of a surprise attack. That being, now this may shock you, the element of surprise,” Keith mocks as Lance makes faces at him, Keith mirroring those in return. He walks away, finally sliding the two trays out of his hands and onto the dining table. “Hey, I’m sure Lance already told you, but my name’s Keith,” He says with a smile, trying to fake confidence and kindness.

“Nice to meet you, Keith. I’m Pidge,” the smaller one with glasses gestures to herself as she talks. “And this is Hunk.” Hunk waves kindly, his smile practically lighting up the room. So, he did guess their names right.

“Ah, right. I must say, I’m quite the fan of your pastries. You’ve got a gift, man.” Keith takes the seat across the table from them, pulling out the chair next to Lance’s discarded chair. Speaking of Lance, Lance has quickly grown to be the human embodiment of salt as he slides in next to Keith, pouting as he crosses his arms over his chest, and huffing quietly whenever Keith even glances in his direction. Rude.

“Oh, gee! Thanks! I’m so happy you like them, Lance is always going on about yo-  _ OW! _ ” Hunk flinches and practically jumps out of his chair, his knees slamming against the table with a loud grunt. Lance is glaring at him from across the table, almost silently communicating with Hunk. “I mean, he’s always going on about… Yorak? Yeah, Yorak. He’s this…” Hunk pauses searching for the right words, his voice unsure and wavering. “Annoying guy who Lance used to work with,” Hunk says, this time with more confidence.

“Oh yeah, Yorak!” Pidge says, clapping her hands together in recollection. “Lance always talks about him to us, don’t you Lance?” she says with a wicked smile, Lance glaring in return. Man, if looks could kill. 

“Oh, you never told me about him…” Keith says slowly, his chest aching for reasons he can’t explain. There’s this funny feeling that consumes him, a weight in his gut and pressure over his heart. Is he sick? He almost feels like he’s coming down with a cold… or something like it at least. It’s kind of hard to explain, really.

“Ah, well… He was like an asshole or whatever! Don’t even bother asking anyone about him, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who remembers the dude…” Lance awkwardly laughs as he looks over at Pidge, his eyes pleading and wide, almost begging for her to put him out of his misery.

Keith drops the conversation there, not really buying it, but also not really caring enough to pursue it any further. However, it is quite odd that Takaishi would never even mention Lance’s old co-worker. It’s hard to just completely forget someone, especially if they’re as annoying as Lance is making him out to be. Suspicious… very suspicious.

“ANYWAY!!” Lance coughs loudly, diverting the attention away from his fairly obvious lie. “How about some wine, wine sounds great right now,” Lance says, promptly grabbing the nearest bottle of wine and beginning to fill the four glasses that line the table.

“Oh, thanks... but no thanks. I don’t drink,” Pidge says, placing her hand over the empty glass as she stops Lance during his embarrassment-induced rampage. He completely ignores her but skips her glass all the same.

“Hey, I’m good too,” Keith says, somewhat fearing how he’ll react if he’s drunk. If what he’s heard is right, people tend to lose their inhibitions when they’re drunk… god knows what he’ll say, or even do. He’d much rather avoid that risk.

“Nope, you don’t get a say in this,” Lance says, not taking his eyes off the cup as he pours out an unhealthy amount -- Keith swears he remembers hearing that you’re not supposed to fill a wine glass to the rim.

“Wha-?!” Keith sputters, “How come she gets to opt out?! This is bullshit!!”

“They, actually,” Pidge interjects, holding their hand up with a shy smile. “Not she.”

“Oh, shit, my bad,” Keith corrects, moving past the topic smoothly. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it; he’s pretty sure Pidge would hate that. “How come they get to opt out?! This is bullshit!!” Keith says once again, his eyes remaining on Lance as he fumes.

“Because I control the wine and I said so! Drink up and loosen up for once. You’ll only have one glass, and unless you have the alcohol tolerance of a toddler, you’ll be fine,” Lance says with an eye roll, pushing the now full glass towards the boy to his left.

“Fine, but only one, then will you leave me alone?” Keith asks, skeptically as he takes the glass. It smells revolting, his nose scrunching and eyes watering as the aroma hits him like a brick wall. God, please don’t let this taste as strong as it smells. He swears his eyes are already burning.

“Yeah, of course.”

\----

Keith doesn’t have just one glass. Thanks again,  _ Lance. _

\---

“- And that’s the story of how Hunk technically kidnapped my cousin,” Pidge finishes with a wide smile, revelling in Hunks embarrassment. Keith has always been the kind of guy who appreciates some good o’ public humiliation at the hands of your best friend. Well, he  _ usually _ is.

See, originally Pidge and Hunk were only meant to stay for a few hours (tops), but, of course, that’s not what happened in the end. Princess Allura walked into the dining room and was beyond excited to meet Hunk and Pidge. So excited, in fact, that she actually extended the invitation for them to join the rest of the staff for dinner; and it’s not like Hunk and Pidge could say  _ no  _ to the princess. Shiro and Coran soon joined the two in the dining area, the rest of the staff (mostly cooks and gardeners) saying a quick hello before they leave for the servant quarters off sight. Now that he thinks about it… Keith, Lance, Coran and Shiro are the only staff that actually sleep in the castle. Cool.

Anyway, in the end, the extended dinner, pressure to fit in and general Lance shenanigans all accumulated into the one outcome: Keith being completely and utterly trashed.

Like,  _ ‘I just turned 21 and I’ve spent all weekend drinking myself into an early grave’ l _ evels of trashed.

He’s mildly impressed with how long he managed to hold himself together in Princess Allura’s presence, but as the night went on he felt himself slowly losing on that particular goal. He relaxed, laughed and even made a few jokes. It was fun… the most fun he’s had in a long time, really.

However, all good things must come to an end, and it just so turns out that the wine (and god knows what else) is finally taking its toll. Keith sits at the end of the table, his eyes laser-focused on Allura as he glares. His hands are planted firmly on the table with his lips pressed into a flat line, his glare burning through the now worried princess.

“Are you -- ah, okay? Keith?” Princess Allura says slowly, fidgeting uncomfortably under his gaze as she fiddles with the long sleeves of her dress.

“You look like you’re about to kill Allura,” Hunk jokes, his eyes focused on the knife in his hand as he cuts through the soft cheese on the table. It’s a side comment that pulls laughter from the whole table; everyone but Keith at least.

Killing… Allura?

Keith watches as the knife slides through the cheese cleanly, his foggy brain barely registering as Hunk spreads the cheese across a nearby piece of bread. He’s tired, drowsy. His brain barely connecting the astray puzzle piece. Killing… Allura….

The table is littered with knives, some designed for simply spreading butter while others are thick and serrated, designed for hard loaves of bread and meats. There’s one close by, a stray knife sitting to his left from when Lance was fixing himself up a snack. It’s right there, within reach.

Keith’s eyes drift between the knife and the giggling princess, his eyes focusing on the exposed skin above her chest. The exposed skin right over her heart. The knife practically glows in the candlelight that flickers off the walls, the warm, orange light practically mocking him as it shines against the steel blade.

“Keith?” He glances to his left, only barely realising that Lance is staring at him with an amused glint in his eye. Usually, Keith would say that he lost his train of thought, but in actuality, the train went off track and crashed into a nearby wall. There are no survivors.

What was he thinking about?? Was it about Allura?? Keith glances over at the princess again, her gaze meeting his as she smiles gently. He tries to jumpstart his memory, staring blankly at her as he waits for his memory to catch up again. Her smile is warm, like sun beating down on her skin, enveloping him in a sea of comfort with each second that ticks by.

“I think Princess Allura is beautiful!!” he suddenly blurts out, almost giving himself whiplash at how fast the conversation turns around. Well, he’s not lying.

“You,  _ WHAT? _ ” Lance screeches, his mouth parted in shock. Allura is in a similar predicament, her face exploding in a sea of red as she slams her hands down on the table. Keith may have imagined it, but Lance almost looks disappointed.

“I think the princess is a very beautiful person,” he says again for clarity, his voice calmer. “I‘m not interested in her, but I would understand why someone elseee might be.” Allura visibly relaxes at that, her shoulders slumping down as she leans back in her chair, exhaling a relieved sigh.

“Well.” She clears her throat, trying to find the right words. “Thank you, Keith, that was rather nice of you,” she says as her previous smile dawns on her face again, her hands crossed on her lap neatly. Lance hums in agreement, bringing his wine glass up to his lips as he takes a small sip. “I think you are rather beautiful too.”

“Love truly is in the air,” Pidge says with a grin that can only be described as shit eating. Lance’s eyes go wide as he chokes on his wine, accidentally swallowing in shock. He coughs loudly a few times as he clears his throat, reaching for a nearby glass of water.

“Oh, I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Keith jokes, brushing off Pidge with a light laugh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith can see Lance looking at him with a quizzical expression, his eyebrow quirked as he stares, still drinking his water as he tries to get rid of his coughing fit. The occasional hiccup-like cough still slips from his lips.

“It’s because I’m gay,” Keith finishes.

Lance spits his water out across the table, causing Pidge and Hunk to simultaneously burst out laughing.

“You,  **_WHAT?!_ ** ” Lance yells for the second time this night, violently spitting his water across the table yet again.

Keith shrugs and elaborates, “I’m gay, I like boys, I have a preference for men-”

“Yep, gotcha!” Hunk yells, thankfully cutting Keith off before Lance spontaneously combusts.

“Well, just so you know… we’re all fine with your relationship preferences. Shiro is actually engaged to a guy,” Princess Allura says, gesturing to Shiro, his usually stern and unreadable expression melting into a fond one.

“Oh, really? Congratssss, Takashi,” Keith slurs, resting his head on his hands as he props his elbows on the table. Even when he’s drunk, Keith refuses to call Shiro anything other than ‘Takashi’.

Pidge glances over their shoulder, their eyes widening as they notice the pinkish-orange glow that covers the sky, darkness quickly setting in. “Oh, I’m afraid Hunk and I must get going. It’s getting awfully late,” they remark, pushing out their chair as they rise to their feet. “Thank you for dinner, it was amazing.”

“Yes, it really was,” Hunk says in turn, bowing slightly as he clasps his hands together in gratitude.

“No, it was our pleasure. It’s not often we have guests,” Princess Allura says, rising from her chair alongside her two guests. “Please, let me show you to the door.” She gestures towards the wooden doors, walking towards them with her hands folded behind her back, Hunk and Pidge following closely after as Shiro holds the door open for them. The door swings shut behind them, muffling the laughter that drifts through the halls.

There’s another wave of drowsiness that overcomes Keith, his mind fogging beyond belief. He wants to sleep and stay awake all night, all at the same time. He wants to run laps around the castle and curl up by the nearest fireplace. His brain can’t decide on what he wants to do, leading him to stumble around blindly, his mind hopping from idea to idea with each passing second.

Keith goes to pick up the plates and bowls that litter off of the table, but his hands shake and his head spins. He fumbles with the plates, eventually giving up with a loud groan (and subsequent hiccup), leaving the task of cleaning up to his future, probably hungover self.

“Come on, Keith, you’re way too drunk to carry anything fragile enough to shatter,” Lance says, almost reading his mind as he goes to pull Keith towards the hallway where the princess disappeared mere minutes ago.

“’m drunk because of you!” he announces, pointing a shaky finger at Lance, even as he follows after him and stumbles down the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m truly evil,” Lance says with an eye roll, wrapping his arm around Keith's waist as he pulls Keith’s other arm over his shoulders, supporting the boy on his weak legs.

“You areee!” Keith drawls, stumbling over his own feet as he rests more of his weight on Lance. They pass one of the many windows that line the walls of the castle, only barely making out the silhouette of Allura and Shiro waving Pidge and Hunk goodbye, the sun almost completely hidden behind the nearby mountains. “I like Pidge and Hunk! They’re both nice....”

“Drunk you seems to like everyone…” Lance mumbles, his eyes trained on the light at the end of the corridor, grumbling something about ‘not me’ under his breath. 

“Well, I’ve never met anyone that I’ve liked before… at least not until I came here. Everyone here is soooo nice, it’s hard  _ not  _ to like ‘em,” Keith rambles, his walls crumbling around him as he openly shares parts of himself he usually wouldn’t want others knowing. “I really like everyone here. I don’t like admitting it, but I don’ wanna leave.”

Lance flinches, his feet catching on the carpet under them as the stops in his tracks. Keith turns towards him, his vision slightly blurred at the edges as he takes in Lance’s expression. He looks… shocked? Confused? Sad? He’s never really been too good at reading people, and alcohol certainly doesn’t help.

“Why would you leave?” Lance asks, concern thick in his tone. His voice cracks slightly as he talks, the previous lighthearted aura that came with Keith being drunk with no filter melting from the room.

“I have a job -  _ hic - _ to do, Lance. We all do,” Keith says, staying intentionally vague. He’s at least grateful for that. “Once ’m done, I’ll have to move on… ’s just how life works,” he slurs with a shrug, making his way down the hall, this time without Lance.

“What do you mean ‘a job’? Your job is to work for Princess Allura... and unless she fires you I don’t see how you’ll be leaving anytime soon,” Lance says, jogging as he catches up to Keith, the boy in question stumbling through the hall. It’s morbidly ironic really… If Keith gets his job done, Allura won’t be around to fire him.

“It’s not important, Lance. Jus’ drop it,” he says dismissively, waving Lance off as they walk down the corridor together. Lance opens his mouth to say something but sighs and closes it again, dropping the conversation at that moment. It’s clear he doesn’t want to; every few seconds he opens his mouth to say something, yet nothing ever comes out. He sighs, slumping forward as he helps Keith down the hallway, this whole conversation clearly irking him.

“You’ll at least be here until the ball… right? It’d be so strange to spend all this time preparing with you, only for me to never see you again afterwards,” Lance says, ducking under Keith’s arm so he can support his weight again.

“Yeah, ‘course I will,” he promises without really thinking. He doesn’t really know how long he’s going to be here… but a part of him just knows he’s going to be here until then. It’s kind of impossible to explain, but it’s like there’s this magnetic force holding him here; pulling him towards Lance. It’s crazy, but it’s constantly there, pulling him that little bit closer, forcing him to linger for those few extra seconds.

He’s going crazy. That’s the only explanation.

Speaking of crazy, he quickly starts running his mouth again, “Why do you care so much?”

Lance flinches but continues down the hall regardless. He sheepishly laughs and looks up at the ceiling above them, his eyes almost sparkling as he lightly shakes his head. “God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You'll be too hungover tomorrow to even remember,” he laughs, almost not believing the situation, however he continues further, “Going to the ball has always been a dream of mine, okay? I guess I’ve just always wanted to, even since I was a little boy. I’ve watched countless balls from the sidelines, merely serving the guests. I’ve always wanted to be one of those people on the dance floor. The couples always look so… in love. I guess I just want the same thing.” 

Lance is smiling softly at Keith, his mouth barely upturned into the smallest of grins, but even that makes his knees go weak. Keith’s heart skips a beat, his stomach twisting into knots as he stares at Lance, more so his soft expression. He looks so… vulnerable. It’s unlike anything he’s seen from Lance previously.

He’s always loud -- a little bit annoying -- and enthusiastic, his energy levels always sitting at a constant 110%. But now? He’s showing Keith a softer side of himself, laying his heart out on the line and exposing his vulnerabilities to him. Usually, Keith would jump at the opportunity to note the vulnerabilities of his targets, but he can’t do anything but stare in awe.

Lance, however, doesn’t notice his apparent awe and continues to practically carry him down the hall. Keith now has both his arms wrapped around Lance’s neck, his feet only barely grazing the floor as he stumbles along, not really caring about how awkward this must be for Lance.

The walk down the hall only lasts a few minutes, but going off the expression on Lance’s face, it must have felt like hours. Lance pushes open their door, still practically carrying Keith as the door swings on its hinges, loudly clattering against the wall behind it. Lance finally unceremoniously dumps Keith on his bed, rolling his shoulders with an annoyed sigh. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Ruuudddeee!” Keith slurs, rolling over onto his back so he’s not suffocating himself in his uncomfortably dense mattress. Keith pulls off his shoes and then his socks off by the toe -- stretching them beyond belief in the process. He looks down at the rest of his outfit, shrugging as he flops back onto his pillow, not really caring about anything other than how soft his pillow is in comparison to everything else.

There’s a long stretch of silence as Keith lies in his bed, his covers resting mid-thigh as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the telltale sound of Lance shuffling around their room. It’s always been this way… neither can sleep until the other is in bed; it’s too loud otherwise.

“Hey, Lance?” Keith says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Oh my god,  _ what? _ ” Lance snaps, his voice more tired than annoyed.

“Thanks… for everything,” he trails off with a yawn, exhaustion finally crashing down over him. He rolls over on his side, resting his head on his pillow as his eyelids droop more and more. “I like you the most out of everyone, I really --” Keith yawns again, towing the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, “-- Don’t want to lose you.”

Lance stands by his bed, mouth slightly parted in shock as he stares at the now sleeping boy across from him, quiet snores filling the room as Keith well and truly clocks out for the night, the alcohol in his system finally putting this god awful (and equally amazing) night to a close.

Lance takes a few short steps towards Keith’s bed. The corners of Keith’s mouth are turned up into a small smile, his hair contrasting against the crystal white pillow it’s splayed against, Along the vast stretches of pale skin that span his arms and legs, goosebumps quickly cover the expanse of his body as he shivers in the cold. 

Lance reaches down, gently dragging his blanket up over to Keith’s chest, watching as the shivering stops almost immediately. He takes a step back, not taking his eyes off the boy in front of him. “Sleep well,  _ Cariño _ ,” Lance whispers to himself, his words dissipating into the night air before they even so much as reach Keith’s ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. (They honestly save my butt with their A+ editing)


	10. A (not so) simple job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! However, this chapter wasn't something I could easily rush out and I really had to take my time on. I'm sure you'll understand why after you've read it.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter! :)  
> EDIT: A few changes have been made since initial publication, so that's why it may seem a tad different (nothing major, don't worry).

Keith has learned a lot about life through his time in the castle. He learned about dancing, ball preparation, friendship, trust and even stupid stuff like what Lance eats for breakfast (it’s eggs and fresh bread, by the way). You couldn’t really say that he’s wiser because of his time in the castle, but he certainly knows more than when he first entered all those weeks ago.

However, there are certain things he can’t help but wish he never learned. He really didn’t need to know that Lance once got himself handcuffed to a tree, nor did he need to know that Lance actually enjoyed it (up until the person involved tried to steal his horse, at least). However, the newest ‘nugget of wisdom’ -- if you can even call it that -- he’s recently been given is alcohol; or more specifically, a hangover.

It’s not that he particularly regrets discovering the effects alcohol has on the human body, it’s more how he discovered them. He would have much prefered to read about how alcohol is quite literally poison to your system and thus your body will do everything in its power to forcibly eject it from you. Hell, someone could have warned him. (Looking at you, Lance).

However, he wasn’t that lucky. So, in the end, he spent the majority of the next morning leaning over the toilet, and spending the rest of the day doing fuck-all. His head throbbed painfully with each heartbeat, the quietest of sounds amplifying to unbearable levels in his head. Everything hurt and he wanted to die.

He was beyond tired and couldn’t do much more than shamble around the castle like a reanimated corpse. Honestly, all he did for the whole time was groan in pain at everything Lance yelled (like he always does) and lie face down in a pile of hay while Lance cleaned the stables. Yeah, there was no way in hell Keith was going to forget Lance promised to clean the stables for a week. At this point, he deserves the time off.

That whole ordeal was a little under three days ago. It took over a day of Keith feeling like complete and utter trash for him to even get remotely close to feeling normal again. Eventually, the alcohol made its way out of his system, but something still eludes him. His memories.

He can’t remember anything.

Whenever he thinks about that night, it’s a blurry mess of loosely strung together events. The first part of the night is clear enough. Hunk and Pidge arrived, Keith ate, drank, Allura joined them for dinner… and then everything else is a blur.

There are flashes of memory here and there, like someone edited stuff out from his mind, the night stopping and starting at random points, sometimes mid-conversation. He remembers yelling something about Allura, and that terrifies him beyond belief. He doesn’t know what he said… he just doesn’t know if drunk him would have the restraint to hold back, or even if he had the control to lie about his past.

What if Hunk and Pidge asked him about his childhood? Would he have told them that his parents were murdered in front of him? Did he tell them that he was kidnapped and forced to be subservient to Lord Zarkon -- or whoever Zarkon passed him around to year after year? The majority of the time, he would clean that godforsaken castle. He would clean for hours upon hours without so much as a break. He would clean until his hands bled and body shook from exhaustion; only then would they actually feed him.

Would he have told Hunk and Pidge that he was a prize to be passed around for the entirety of his childhood? God, he hopes not.

There’s no point dwelling on the past, especially dwelling on something that may not have even happened.

However, something that he does remember is talking to Lance. Alone. The conversation itself isn’t completely there; some minutes of the night are still completely missing from his mind. If he’s being honest, he only remembers one part of the conversation.

“Going to the ball has always been a dream of mine, okay? I guess I’ve just always wanted to, even since I was a little boy. I’ve watched countless balls from the sidelines, merely serving the guests. I’ve always wanted to be one of those people on the dance floor. The couples always look so… in love. I guess I just want the same thing.”

At first, Keith naturally assumed that’s all they talked about. That they were simply making idle conversation as they walked down the hall together, but that’s slowly becoming less and less realistic in his mind.

Keith slowly noticed that Lance was fidgety around him, at least more than usual. Lance’s hand often hovered in the air between the two of them, the tips of his finger barely brushing the skin of Keith’s palm.

Keith must have said something because Lance has been hovering closer than usual. Lance mustn't trust Keith anymore, because he almost never leaves him alone. Wherever Keith goes, he’s guaranteed to find Lance awkwardly hovering a few meters behind. He doesn’t really know what happened, but it couldn’t have been good. Why else would Lance be acting like this?

Speaking of which…

“Hey, why are we way out here, Keith?” Lance asks, stroking Blue’s mane as they both ride further out into the forest.

“I dunno, I just felt like going for a ride.”

Lance laughs lightly and shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. Lance whispers something under his breath, quiet enough that Keith can’t quite make it out. “What’d you say?” Keith questions mindlessly, not really paying attention.

“WHAT? I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!!!” Lance says, jolting in his saddle, yelping out a sound between a squeak and a scream. Blue almost seems to laugh at him, huffing loudly as she bucks him lightly on her back, not quite knocking him off.

“Okay?” Keith says slowly, quirking his eyebrow as he gives Lance a weird look. Lance clears his throat and decides to promptly change the subject.

“Hey, I want to show you something!” he announces. Lance quickly swings his leg over Blue’s saddle and slides to the ground, stroking her mane as he passes by. Lance walks towards a small ledge at the end of the path. “I’ve never actually had a chance to brin- AH!” Lance says as he approaches the edge of the ledge, however, before he can safely climb down, his foot catches on a small exposed root.

Lance lets out a small scream as he tumbles to the ground. He disappears over the hill within a matter of seconds, his screams echoing through the forest before they’re abruptly cut off by a loud splash.

Keith quickly dismounts Red and walks over to the edge of the hill, quietly snickering under his breath at the massive trail of broken twigs Lance left in his wake. He slides down the hill, one hand outstretched behind him for balance as he hops over rocks and exposed roots.

Finally, he reaches the bottom and is met with a massive pond. The mud around the outskirts has been pushed to the side, leading directly into the clear water. Lilies and other plants cover the surface, flowers blooming all over the surface of the pool. The trees that surround the small lake give it an aura of seclusion, blocking the area from any prying eyes. A lush forest of flowers cover the grassy plains around the pond, everything painted a deep green.

Keith leans forward, scanning over the surface of the water for Lance. Before he can spot the boy in question, Lance shoots out of the water with a loud scream, “SURPRISE ATTACK!!” Lance grabs Keith’s wrists before he can so much as take a step backwards.

“La-” Keith starts to scream before his voice is ultimately muffled by the water. Keith desperately flails underwater, kicking off the soft mud at the bottom as he scrambles for the surface. He gasps loudly as he meets air, thankful he can touch the ground. “What the hell, Lance!” Keith pants, his clothes completely and utterly soaked as his hair hangs over his face. Water droplets run down his neck and back and his clothes stick to him awkwardly. He’s cold, wet and tired.

“Oh, come on! It was funny!” Lance laughs, pushing his wet hair out of his face. Keith’s heart skips a beat.

Keith tugs his shirt away from his body, wrinkling his nose in disgust as it peels away from his skin, the white cloth drenched to the point of becoming translucent. He lets go and his shirt instantly sticks back to his chest, making him shiver. “I just cleaned these, Lance!” Keith groans, trying to fight off laughter of his own.

“Well, think of this as a second bath!” Lance exclaims happily before cupping his hands under the water and throwing the water directly into Keith’s face.

“Lance, sto-” Keith gets cut off as Lance splashes more water in his direction, this time splashing it directly into his mouth. He coughs loudly and spits out the water. “Oh, now it’s on!” He rolls up his sleeves with a wide smirk as he runs (as well as he can) in the water and tackles Lance. They both go under with a loud splash.

It escalates from there, and soon enough it’s an all-out water war. Keith dodges and weaves each ‘attack’ from Lance, all while he throws his own. Keith blindly splashes, his vision completely blurred with the excessive amounts of water being tossed in his face. Lance has his eyes shut tightly as he flails through the water, slapping his hands on the surface in an attempt to splash as much as humanly possible.

Keith reaches under the waves around him, his hand fisting in the mud below as he quietly collects a small ball. He pulls his hand above the water and turns around, pretending to shield himself from Lance as he silently forms the mud into a ball.

“Hey, Lance!!” Lance spins around at his name, his splashing stopping momentarily. “SURPRISE ATTACK!!” Keith finds himself mimicking Lance’s actions from a few minutes ago as he throws the mud ball, hitting Lance square in the face.

He cackles loudly as Lance stands there in shock, a thick layer of mud now covering his face. Lance scoffs and wipes off his face, flicking his wrist as he throws it into the water below him. Lance grins widely at him and very purposely reaches down into the water.

Keith holds his hands up in front of him as carefully steps back. “Lance… don’t do this, buddy,” Keith says, struggling not to smile. “Come on!” Keith laughs, backing up as Lance starts to run at him.

“Prepare to eat dirt!” Lance yells, darting through the water fairly quickly despite the resistance tugging at his legs.

Keith yelps and spins around, scurrying towards the shore frantically. “I’m sorry!” He’s really not, and they both know that. Keith moves sluggishly, his legs dragging as he frantically splashes behind him and uses his arms as leverage to pull himself through the water. “No, no, no!” he chants, laughing loudly as Lance gets closer and closer.

Keith finally reaches the shore and pulls himself through the mud and grass with little concern for his clothes. He scrambles to his feet but only makes it a few steps before Lance’s hand wraps around his ankle and he plummets to the ground. Keith curses under his breath when Lance tugs him backwards, simultaneously using Keith as leverage to pull himself out of the pond.

Lance grabs Keith’s waist, flipping him over onto his back so he can pin his arms above his head. “Gotcha.” Lance mocks.

“Whatever, it’s only because you’re better at swimming. If we were on land I would have whooped your ass,” Keith says with a scoff, rolling his eyes as the rock underneath his hip awkwardly digs into him. He shuffles around and tries to ignore the obvious feeling of Lance's legs straddled over him.

“Please,” Lance teases in turn. “I won fair and square and you know it!”

“Mmmm,” Keith hums noncommittally. “I seem to remember you tripping me… that doesn’t sound too fair, does it?” It’s only then that Keith notices how close they really are. Lance is on his hands and knees above him, his head hanging down past his shoulders. They’re both soaked from head to toe as they practically lie on top of each other.

“Well, I’ll do whatever it takes to win…” Holy shit. Was Lance’s voice always this raspy? Keith has to be going crazy -- he must have hit his head when he fell.

Keith can feel himself flushing a deep red as his eyes widen. “So, uh-” Keith croaks, his voice refusing to cooperate. “You… gonna get off me?”

Lance flushes in turn because apparently, they’re both as awkward as each other. “Ah, right… that’s probably a good idea,” Lance murmurs, the way his eyes momentarily flicker down to Keith’s lips going unnoticed.

“Yeah, I’d say it probably is.” My god, this got awkward fast.

Lance rolls off of him, lying down next to him on the grass. There’s the phantom feeling of Lance’s fingers barely brushing over Keith’s hand. He’d swear he imagined it if he couldn’t actually see Lance’s hand hovering a few centimetres away from his own. “So… you never actually told me why you decided to go for a ride today,” Lance says after a few moments of silence.

“Well, Red always get antsy if she’s locked in her stable for too long… It was only a matter of time before she threw a tantrum and made a run for it.” Keith would like to say that it’s only a working theory of his, but he has in fact seen Red throw a tantrum. Multiple times.

“Ha, that reminds me of someone else I know.”

“Who?” Keith asks, turning his head to the side to look at Lance.

“You… Duh,” Lance says casually, almost as if he’s commenting on the weather. His eyes focused on the clouds that drift by above them.

“Me?” Keith asks again, trying to ignore the fear that quickly starts to bubble up inside of him. It’s fine… Lance probably just knows that he likes being around nature. Yeah, it’s fine.

“Yeah, of course.” Lance says, “You’re always jittery inside the castle, I’ve always noticed that. Of course, now I know the reason.”

“What reason? What are you talking about?” Keith says frantically, his head starting to spin. What does Lance know?

“Oh, you probably don’t remember. I keep forgetting you were drunk off your face,” Lance says with a quiet chuckle. Lance finally looks away from the sky and turns to meet Keith’s eyes. “You told me all about it the other night, hell, you told everyone about Allura. I can’t believe you just blurted that out at the dinner table, man!”

Keith’s blood runs cold.

“Ah, one second, this shirt is getting cold and gross,” Lance laughs, pushing himself up off the ground as he walks back to the lake.

Lance knows about Keith’s real job. He knows that Keith doesn’t remember talking about it, and he’s faking ignorance so Keith will let his guard down. That’s got to be it.

Everyone must be keeping him around long enough to get him arrested… or worse. It’s got to be it, what else could it be? Under the layers of panic, Keith can feel his heart slowly breaking. Muffled under pure and unadulterated terror, something inside of him burns. Above all, the idea of hurting Lance (emotionally or otherwise) seems to break him more than anything he’s felt before. His heart aches, in a way he can’t understand.

Why does the idea of Lance knowing hurt so much? Why does betraying Lance’s trust hurt him so badly?

It doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t it make sense?! He shouldn’t feel this way -- he hasn’t before. Why… why does Lance matter so much to him?

Keith lets out a shaky breath and pushes his feelings deep down, just like he always has. Emotion is a weakness. That's what he was taught. He ignores his feelings and simply moves on, he ignores the bubbling in his stomach and the aching in his chest.

Keith glances over at Lance as he stands over the lake, his shirt rolled up in his hands as he wrings it out. He unwinds his shirt and hangs it over a nearby tree to dry, humming to himself as he does so. His heart skips another beat.

Keith looks down at the crescent marks on his palms. He digs his nails into the small grooves and bites his lip. Lance is his weakness. A single tear slips down his cheek, blending in perfectly with the droplets of water already there.

Weakness must be eliminated.

\-------------

It’s late.

Not that Keith cares.

Time has almost seemed to stop since he realised what needs to be done. He’s spent the whole day wrapped up in his own head, so much so that he can’t even really say what’s been happening.

At dinner, he just stared at his bowl as his thoughts drowned out everything else. What… he’s going to do… is wrong, so very wrong… but he doesn’t have a choice. It goes against everything he wishes to believe, but not going through with it goes against everything he was taught.

He’s stuck in the crossfire of who he is and who he wants to be.

Anyway, it’s late. That’s all that matters.

Everyone in the castle went to bed hours ago, and Lance snores loudly in the bed next to Keith as he lies awake. He’s been putting this off all night, just trying to saviour another second of peace and quiet. Lance mumbles in his sleep and rolls over, pulling the blankets up to his chin as he remains well and truly asleep.

The room is bleak and empty. The candles lay extinguished on their plates, the wax dried and cool to the touch. Everything is pitch black, the only light coming from the moonlight that slips through the open windows. The room is, fittingly, bone-chillingly cold, each gust of wind that swells past the curtains just adding onto the ever-growing list of reasons of why Keith should stay in his bed.

He quietly lifts up his covers as goosebumps shoot down his bare legs, the crisp night air nipping at his skin. Keith throws his legs over the side of his mattress, flinching when his feet touch the frigid wooden floorboards under him. His knees quiver as he kneels down on the ground, both from the biting temperatures and terror.

Keith rummages under his bed, flinching every time Lance so much as snorts in his sleep. Soon enough his hand lands on the rough edges of his trunk. He slides the box out and places it on his bed, then sits down next to it and pulls it onto his lap. When he opens it, inside is his knife still wrapped up in the stained cloth that he left it in.

He takes out the handcrafted blade, tugging away the protective material as he tosses it around in his hands. His eyes momentarily trail over the writing that covers the cloth, the thick black letters almost staring back up at him. Then he rips the fabric in half, splitting the sentence down the middle as he roughly shoves it back into the box along with the other junk he didn’t bother to unpack since the first day he arrived.

He places the trunk on his bedside table and grips the knife tightly between his trembling fingers. In the darkness of their shared room, Keith stalks over to Lance's bed, holding the knife behind his back. He has to do this. Keith can feel himself breaking as he crawls onto Lance’s bed. Right now, he wants nothing more than to lie down next to him.

He throws his leg over Lance and straddles his waist, hovering just above him with his knife in hand. Keith fights the disgust that bubbles up inside of him, the pure and unadulterated resentment that he holds for himself washing over him as he grips the blade with both hands.

Lance mumbles something in his sleep again, a small smile momentarily playing on his lips before it fades and he lies still again. Keith feels himself breaking further. He takes a moment to collect himself and disassociate from his emotions, just like he was taught.

Don’t think about who your victim is, don’t think about their family, friends or anything they have to live for. If you do, you’ll never get the job done. Don’t think, just act.

Keith tries his best to do very that. He raises his knife above his head, the silver blade shining in the moonlight as he prepares for a bloodbath. He imagines that it’s someone else under him. They’re just a random stranger; someone who he doesn’t know; someone who he doesn’t trust; someone he doesn’t care about.

Keith hesitates again but commits, he shuffles around slightly and tosses the knife back and forth between his hands as he raises it over his head yet again. Keith can almost feel something pulling on his wrist, an elastic band of sorts that pulls his arms back above his head time and time again. Everytime he gets close to finishing his job, the rubber band snaps his arms back into place.

Lance mumbles something else and faintly smiles in his sleep.

Keith shatters.

He throws his knife across the room as if it burns him, as if the handle of the blade had somehow turned red-hot as waves of guilt cascade over him. He drowns in it. What was he thinking? How could he do this? He can’t hurt Lance, he just can’t. He won’t. The blade noisily clatters to the floor, the knife sliding across the wooden boards and scraping loudly as it does so.

Keith’s hands fly to his mouth as a sob is forcibly ripped from his throat, his fingers quivering violently as earthquake-like tremors shoot through his body. Wave after wave of guilt, disgust and horror rips through him like a tsunami.

Lance shuffles underneath Keith as he slowly blinks. “Keith?” Lance cuts himself off with a quiet yawn, his eyes half-lidded as he stares somewhat drunkenly at the boy above him. “Why are you on my lap?” Lance groggily murmurs. A few seconds pass before his eyes shoot open at the sound of a muffled hiccup. “Keith, are you crying?” Lance says slowly, now completely awake, Lance carefully reaches out for Keith as the boy in question flinches and pulls away.

Keith’s mind only spirals further as Lance deliberately reaches out for him again. He’s been caught. Lance knows all about his past. Lance is going to kill him.

“I-I,” Keith sobs, his hands flying to his mouth as his entire body shudders with the impact of what he almost did. Keith swings his leg back over Lance’s torso, desperately scrambling off the bed as he hits the ground below with a loud thud, pain exploding in his spine as he pushes himself as far away as he can. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t-” Keith yells, frantically fumbling for words as he pushes himself further and further away from the bed, cornering himself against the nearest wall.

It's a horrible imitation of earlier in the day, but now he’s apologising for a completely different reason. His knife lies under the bed, forgotten in the sea of fear that Keith finds himself lost in.

“I swear, I didn’t mean it!” Keith yells again, his eyes going wide in fear when Lance sits up, pushing his blankets aside as he rushes over to the hysterical boy. “PLEASE!!” Keith begs, pushing his back against the wall as he finds himself trapped. As his mind spirals further, the figure in front of him distorts into something unrecognisable.

“Keith, it’s okay! You only woke me up, okay? Look at me-” Lance tries to place his hands on Keith’s face, only to get them slapped away as Keith tries to push himself further back into the wall.

Keith’s brain kicks into fight or flight mode, his body seizing up as he desperately begs for his life. In his mind, Lance is no different than any of the Galra guards; he’s simply a faceless threat. Years of trauma flood back in an instant, when there were sometimes days at a time he’d spent chained up. He knows what he has to do, he was taught what to do to get out of these situations.

Keith screams, his hands shaking as he starts to scrub at the splintered wooden floors with his bare hands. As far as his brain is concerned, he’s sitting in the throne room of the Galran castle, brush in hand as he scrubs away the layers of dust. He has to clean. Everything has to be spotless.

Tears run down Keith’s cheeks as he grinds his hands on the wooden floor. Lance sits there watching helplessly as Keith slips further and further into his mental breakdown. His hands start to bleed, small pinpricks of red turning into small rivers that slowly run down his skin while splinters dig deeper and deeper with each push of his palms.

“Keith, stop it, you’re hurting yourself!” Lance grabs Keith’s hands, forcibly holding them off the ground. Keith doesn’t care, he just keeps making a scrubbing motion in the air, mindlessly sobbing excuses. Quickly, Lance pulls Keith from the wall, at first Keith screams and kicks like a cornered animal, but he soon finds himself enveloped in an all-consuming warmth. His brain barely registers the arms wrapped around him and the chest that presses into his back. However, he finds himself melting into the touch.

“I-I,” Keith stutters, desperately reaching for another excuse as his anxieties bubble up inside of him once more.

Lance quietly shushes him, not bothering to move from the position they’ve found themselves in. “It’s okay, just breathe.” Keith focuses on the rising and falling of Lance’s chest behind him, subconsciously mimicking him with each breath. Soon enough his own breathing evens out and he finds himself calming back down.

Lance gently runs his hands through Keith’s hair, one arm still tightly wrapped around his waist as they sit together in the darkness of their room. All concept of time flies out the window as Keith lies there in Lance's arms, his brain spiralling as he tries to ground himself back in reality.

Lance clears his throat, but his hands don’t falter as they comfortingly run through Keith’s hair. “Keith, you don’t have to tell me anything, okay? If you don’t want to tell me, just say so and I’ll drop the conversation straight away…” Lance pauses for a few moments, seemingly collecting himself. “What happened?” It’s a simple question, but it holds so much weight.

It’s then that embarrassment washes over him. Before, when he was drowning in his own fear, he wasn’t worried about if someone saw him the way he was, he was in flight or fight mode. He wasn’t thinking. Now, however, he is thinking, and well and truly humiliated.

It’s a different kind of humiliation, rather than raw embarrassment, it’s like a burn in his chest. He’s ashamed. He’s ashamed that Lance saw him in that state of mind, that he wasn’t strong enough to fight the panic off. He’s ashamed that that unbridled and unrestrainable terror still resides deep inside of him, that the Galra will forever have an effect on his life.

His skin crawls, the myriad of scars that cover his body burn with a vengeance, searing into his skin, a constant symbol of what brought him to this point. The long, sharp, whip-like slashes that trail down his back serve as a reminder of what’s awaiting him when he returns ‘home’.

“Its nothing, I just had a nightmare or whatever.” Keith uses the same excuse he always does, and Lance hasn’t fell for it once. Keith doesn’t even have a chance to put his walls back up before Lance is breaking through.

“For fuck's sake, Keith!” Lance says lowly, his words coming out as a harsh pant. Lance roughly grabs Keith and spins him around, so they’re face to face. “I thought we were past this pointless game of cat and mouse!” He’s obviously referring to the fact that Keith tells him fuck-all about what’s going on from day to day.

“Fine, I was just freaking out, okay?” Keith says, flinching as he tries to pull away from Lance, however, Lance holds him firmly in place. “I was just thinking about… home and I guess I just spiralled from there.” Technically, he’s not lying.

Lance sighs and pulls him closer, his hands still gripping his shoulders. “Do you miss your family?”

“Yeah, I really do. It’s been… far too long since I’ve seen my mother's face,” Keith smiles bitterly at the thought of her laughter or the offkey singing that used to fill the halls of his home. “Sometimes I forget was it was like to be loved… my parents were the first and last people to ever care about me.”

Lance hooks his finger under Keith’s chin and gently guides his head to the side so they’re facing one another. Keith avoids eye-contact all the same. “Keith, I hate hearing you talk like that,” Lance says, “I’ll say it as many times as I need to because clearly, it’s not getting through to you.” Lance takes Keith's face between his hands, forcing Keith to finally meet his gaze. “I care about you, like, more than I’d admit. Your parents may be gone, but you’ve got me and everyone else in the castle, we’re your family now. You’re a good person, Keith, you deserve to feel loved.”

Keith stares into Lance’s eyes as the weight of Lances words wash over him. However, he can’t help himself from saying, “But what if I’m not a good person?”

“Keith, you’re a good person, I can see that. You may be a little untrusting, but you really do care about others, even if you don’t like showing it,” Lance says softly, a small smile on his lips as his fingers trail lightly across Keith’s face, gently cupping his cheeks. “I know who you are.”

At that moment, Keith has, what he considers, to be the weirdest thought he’s ever had.

Calloused fingers resting on his cheeks or wrapped tightly around his waist, chestnut hair, soft skin and the gentle press of Lance’s lips against his. He can feel himself flushing a deep red as his mind spirals in a completely different way. He finds himself craving more. Fingers interlaced. Hands gently combing through hair. Stolen kisses. Subtle glances from across ballrooms. A couple twirling across an empty dance floor.

Keith looks up at Lance, his eyes wide as puzzle pieces start to fall into place.

Next thing Keith knows, they’re both lying in bed, he’s not sure where, but it has a distinctly homey feel. Lance has his arm thrown over Keith’s shoulder as he traces gentle patterns up and down his arms. Keith, on the other hand, lies on his side, hands resting on Lance's chest as they simply lie together in silence. Occasionally they’ll both look at each other with nothing but complete adoration.

Keith’s heart skips a beat for the thousandth time, but this time, it makes perfect sense.

“Oh my god,” Keith finally says, his eyes wide as saucers as he tenses. He can still feel Lance’s hands gently trailing across his face, fleeting touches that leave Keith wanting more.

“What?” Lance asks, more out of curiosity than concern.

Within a fraction of a second everything makes perfect sense. The random feelings he can’t quite explain, how Lance always catches him off guard, how his heart always skips a beat around him. Why he can’t bring himself to hurt Lance.

That’s what it means to care for someone, right? It means they’re your weakness but in a conventional sense, because they’re not a threat or something that’ll cause you to unravel. They’re someone worth protecting, a source of _strength_. They’re someone who’ll be by your side to the end and support you when no one else will.

So, in a sense, Lance _is_ Keith’s weakness, but only because...

Keith cares about him, to a terrifying extent. 

Is it love? Maybe, he can't be too sure. But, he does know this feeling isn't going away anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. (They honestly save my butt with their A+ editing)


	11. Allura: Klance shipper #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you may notice that this chapter is a tad 'slower' than the others! That's because it's a much needed break after the... chaos that was last chapter. The next few are going to be a _lot_ more chill. Basically, prepare for a metric butt-tone of fluff!  
>  Anyway, enjoy!

So, it’s no surprise that Keith isn’t really the most _socially_ inclined person. Hell, a few months ago he didn’t even know the difference between a dessert spoon and a soup spoon (and he still gets them mixed up to this day). His own personal brand of problem solving has always been punch first, negotiate later.

This, of course, makes crushes all the messier. For someone like Keith, who’s never really had the chance to study and learn the intricacies of social interaction, pursuing a relationship (platonic or otherwise) is significantly harder. He can’t really fight his way through a relationship. Well, he _could_ , but it wouldn’t go that well for him. Long story short, Lance has unintentionally flipped Keith’s world upside down and forced him to look at how he approaches everything in his life -- not just the adversities he may face.

Are relationships supposed to change you like this? Surely every crush doesn't change the very fundamentals of who you are as a person, right? Honestly, Keith doesn’t understand how people can jump from relationship from relationship without a second thought.

So, yeah, Keith’s slowly leaning about relationships. He knows they’re messy and he knows how _goddamn annoying_ they are _._ He can’t even look Lance in the eye without stumbling over his words – and that has certainly made living with said boy an… interesting challenge.

Take earlier today for example. Keith was cleaning the windows, as he always does. He was about half-way done when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t give it much thought Originally as he had assumed it was just one of the many deers that roamed the castle grounds.

He was wrong.

In actuality, it was Lance. The very Lance who apparently likes to jog around the castle grounds, on occasion. And by on occasion, Keith means just this one time, apparently. Meaning Keith had inadvertently signed himself up to watching Lance workout, in the midday sun, for over an hour.

_It was both the best and worst hour of his life._

What’s worse is that it’s not the first time that it’s happened. Not the ogling Lance thing (not that he’ll admit it either way) but, that’s he’s been completely blindsided by own imagination and forgotten his work all together. Somehow, his thoughts always loop back around to Lance, without fail.

_‘This would be easier if Lance was here to help.’_

_‘Hey, isn’t this where Lance tried to wrestle Shiro?’_

_‘Lance would find that funny.’_

He’s still trying to understand his own feelings, and the constant barrage of intrusive thoughts aren't exactly helping. He’s still trying to understand the difference between love and lust. Between a friend and acquaintance. He’s learning, but it’s a slow process.

“Yo, Keith, you okay, man?” Lance asks, waving a hand in front of Keith’s face. Keith nearly jumps out of his skin when he’s violently pulled back to reality.

See, this is exactly what he means. He’s been slipping into his own delusional thoughts more often than usual, to the point where it’s genuinely interfering with his life. He can’t focus on anything anymore.

“Sorry, just zoning out.” Keith grips the handle of his broom tighter and he goes back to sweeping. Keith looks around him, reminding himself of where he actually is. The sunlight streams through the open -- and unwashed -- windows, the long corridors that both Keith and Lance have resigned themselves to sweeping lays abandoned in the chaos of ball preparation.

The halls are usually filled with people meandering on their way or just taking a stroll through the castle, but everything is in full swing. The chefs are huddled in the kitchen, the maids are sewing table cloths and tapestries, guards are training and servants are cleaning. Everyone’s stress is slowly building up, and Keith has a feeling they’re only a few days away from a castle wide, cosmic level meltdown.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” Lance asks, gently tilting his head to the size with a quizzical gaze.

Keith sighs and pulls his gaze back to Lance. “Would you believe me if I said nothing?”

Lance pauses for a moment, clearly humouring Keith. “Nah, not for a second.”

“Just the ball, really. It’s weird that it’s so close, considering how much work we’ve got left to do,” Keith muses, pursing his lips as he looks out the window near him. Gardeners rush around outside, resembling ants before a storm. They all run back and forth frantically, planting trees and trimming hedges alike. As he already said, everyone is on the edge of a meltdown.

Keith never had any idea preparing for a _ball_ of all things would be so labour intensive. Never again will he complain that balls and ballroom dances are for young girls who still dream of finding their prince charming. _Never again._

Lance holds his broom in one hand and throws his arms out either side of him. “Welcome to _le castle du stress!_ Home of mental breakdowns and snobby guests that no one even likes inviting!” Keith laughs and fakes annoyance while he shakes his head.

“So, are you planning on going to the ball?” Keith asks, subtly trying to change the conversation. Lance takes the bait, hook, line and sinker.

Lance fumbles and almost drops his broom. Lance adjusts his grip and looks down at the floor, slowly sweeping in long strokes. “No,” he says, his voice quiet and weak, “I don’t even want to go... Why would I?”

“Please,” Keith drawls with an amused expression. “You’re always going on about how magical balls are! Don’t lie to me, I know you want to go! Give me one reason why you shouldn’t go.”

“I can think of a few key reasons: one, I don’t have an outfit; two, I don’t have anyone to go with; and three, the guest list is strictly invite only. I’m simply a servant, not an esteemed guest.”

Keith scoffs, faking offense. He leans his broom on a nearby wall and starts listing counter arguments with his fingers. “One, who cares what you’re wearing, you look good in almost anything.” Keith doesn’t miss the way Lance’s eyes widen. “Two, who cares about if you have a date or not, you’re there to have fun; and three, Princess Allura loves you, I’m sure she'd be more than willing to extend an invitation to you!”

“Sure, I guess…” Lance sighs dramatically and slumps over. “But, the entire point of going to a ball is to go with someone you like. You’re supposed to dance the night away under the light of a thousand stars! Not sit by the window, wishing someone else was with you.”

 _'Do not ask who he wants to go with. Dear god, do not ask. You'll make him uncomfortable and then he'll hate you forever. Don't ask, it'll be weird.'_ “Who would you even miss that much?” ' _God damn it._ ' Keith quirks his eyebrow and lean his chin on his broom, faking nonchalance while he internally screams and curses every greater power he can think of for making him this way. 

Look, he can’t help himself from pursuing the conversation further, because, curiosity really did kill the cat. Lance is clearly hung up over something (or more specifically, someone) and Keith _really_ wants to find out what. Everything regarding Lance seems to be top priority now, as frustrating as that may be. It’s not _really_ his fault, his emotions suddenly seem to have more sway over him than his logic -- which is mildly concerning considering that’s the one thing he was trying to avoid through all of this.

A small pink flush covers the bridge of Lance’s nose before he looks away. Keith laments the fact that his heart skips a beat. “It’s not important. The point is, going to a ball is more of a silly fantasy of mine, not a realistic goal or whatever.”

“Who care if it’s a fantasy! Just ask the princess, I’m positive she’d happily let you go! Why would you miss out of this chance just because you’re scared Allura might say no?” Even if Princess Allura says no, he won’t lose anything in the process. Lance has got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“It’s not that, it’s just… I don’t know, the reason I don’t want to go is because I want it so much,” Lance says, momentarily freezing in place as he stares down at the end of his broom.

“What?” Keith says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Half the time nothing you say makes sense, but that was especially confusing.”

“I mean, I’ve dreamt about it forever. What if it’s not like I expected? Or what if I make a fool of myself?” Lance shrugs, avoiding eye contact as his eyes flit around the room. Apparently the tapestries are suddenly fascinating.

“Lance McClain, the very boy who once tried to backflip off his horse and failed miserably, is scared of making a fool of himself?” Keith mocks, side stepping into Lance’s field of vision again, waving his hand to pull Lance’s gaze back to him.

“Well, it’s different around a group of strangers! With you… I’m not that worried, I guess.” Wait, is that an insult or a compliment? Is it because Lance doesn’t want to impress Keith, or because he doesn’t need to impress him? _Dear god, feelings are complicated._

It’s then that Keith gets an idea. A bad idea. A horrible Idea. Possibly the worst idea he’s had in a while, but it’s an idea nonetheless. Then again, if the idea goes as planned, it’ll be one of the best ideas he’s ever had. “What if you had time to practice in private before the ball?” Keith asks, directing it more towards himself than Lance.

“What?”

Keith gasps loudly and clicks his fingers. “I’VE GOT TO GO!! I’LL SEE YOU AFTER DINNER!!” Keith drops his broom on the ground in a hurry before sprinting down the hallway, leaving a very confused Lance in his wake. Keith jogs down the hall, twisting and turning with practised ease as he navigates the maze of corridors and dead-ends – races against Lance are at least good for something.

“Keith, my boy, it’s good to se- Okay, bye Keith!” Coran greats before promptly bidding him farewell as the dark-haired boy continues to sprint through the corridors.

“Sorry, Coran!” Keith yells, momentarily spinning around to face him. “I’ve got places to be and hearts to win!” Keith throws his arms up in a makeshift shrug as he continues to jog backwards.

“That’s the spirit, Keith! Good luck!” Coran yells soon after, his mood shifting back to his usual chipper, upbeat personality within the instant. Keith smiles and turns back around, continuing through the castle. Soon enough, Keith skids to a halt outside a large set of wooden doors left cracked open, letting the orange glow of candlelight meddle with the sunlight just past the superficial border that the doorway creates.

He quickly flattens out his hair and smoothes out the wrinkles in his shirt, sighing quietly before knocking on the door. “Princess Allura? May I talk to you?” Keith says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Keith, is that you?” Allura says, her voice muffled by the thick wooden doors.

“Yeah, can I come in?” He says, slowly pushing the door open.

There’s a shuffling inside of the room as a chair drags against the wooden floors. “Of course! I told you, my door is always open!” Keith fully pushes open the door, still feeling a little awkward and out of place without a formal invitation to come in.

Allura sits in the far corner of the room, huddled behind her desk as she writes furiously, only pausing to dip her pen back into the small vial of Ink to her left. The curtains throughout her office are drawn tightly shut, the only light coming from a few stray candles that litter both her desk and room. “Oh, it’s… scenic in here…” Keith says, carefully stepping over crates and empty ink vials.

“Oh, Keith! I apologize for the… lighting issue, I just tend to work better in the dark. Just a moment!” Allura says before pushing herself up from her desk, she walks across her room in a few long strides and throws her curtains open with a flourish. “Sorry about that. Now how can I help you, Keith?”

“Are you sure, because I can always come back later… you seem pretty busy.” Keith decides not to mention that she’s still in her nightgown. Unsurprisingly, the white flowing dress doesn’t even take away from her natural beauty. If anything, she looks nicer in casual attire; no fancy dress, no crown and no formal obligations. Just Allura being her natural self.

“No, no, it is fine!” the princess waves him off with a flick of her wrist. “I was about to take a break anyway. What can I do for you?”

“Well… it’s actually about the ball?” It’s probably best if he just comes right out with what he wants; beating around the bush won’t help anyone.

“Oh, no! Please don’t tell me something has gone wrong with the preparations.” Allura tenses up and nearly jumps out of her skin at the mere mention of the ball.

“Wha- No, no! The preparations are going fine, everything is on track,” Keith rushes out, holding his hands out calmingly before she can spiral any further.

Princess Allura clears her throat and regains her composure. “So, what is the matter then?” she asks, her body naturally shifting into her formal mannerisms. Both of her hands are intertwined neatly over her waist, her shoulders a squared, her chin is high, and her back is straight. It’s probably second nature at this point.

“Well, it’s actually about Lance…” Keith says slowly, ignoring the bubbling in his gut at the mere mention of his name.

“Lance, right.” Allura nods thoughtfully. “You two have grown remarkably close -- I’m sure you have a lot in common,” she says, leaning closer as she winks meaningfully.

“I mean, we both work for you… so that’s something.”

“No, I meant more… personal?” the princess continues with a wide grin, winking again for good measure.

“Hmm,” Keith takes a step backwards as Allura moves closer, her eyes practically shining with excitement. “Oh! I get what you mean,” Keith says and snaps his fingers. “A few weeks ago, Lance got a blueberry stuck up his nose and he was sneezing blue for two days afterwards. It was hilarious.”

Allura grimaces and steps back. “Right… I’m glad you… completely understood that question.” Keith just stands there awkwardly, not wanting to incur her wrath. “Sorry, I went on a tangent, what did you need again?”

“Right, so, I was wondering if you’d… let Lance attend the ball… as a guest?” Keith says slowly, wincing at his own voice as he tapers off into a high-pitched whine. “I understand that it’s a lot to ask, but I’d be perfectly willing to do his share of the work if it meant he could attend.”

“You want me to extend an invitation to Lance?” Allura says, sounding a little too confused for Keith’s comfort. She furrows her eyebrows as she speaks, pursing her lips as if the words don’t quite sound right to her.

“Yes, I understand your hands may be tied in terms of guest lists and the criteria those guests must meet, but I thought it’d be worth asking.” Keith scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and continues, “I know it probably doesn’t seem like much to you… but this is his dream. I just really want to see him happy, you know? This would mean so much to both of us.”

“Well... there is a lovely girl named Nyma from a nearby kingdom, and I’m afraid her partner won’t be able to attend, so there is an open spot in his place…” Allura trails off and looks around the room, quietly pondering. “I don’t see any reason why Lance couldn’t attend, and I’m sure the whole event would be much more bearable with him there too...” she suddenly claps her hands and jostles back to meet Keith’s gaze. “I for one am perfectly content with Lance attending the ball!”

“Thank you, Princess! He’ll be so happy when he hears the news!” Keith can’t fight back the smile spreading across his features as he thanks her, momentarily considering if it’d be a bad idea to tackle her into a hug. He only considers it for a moment though.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast! I have one thing I must ask of you, considering I’m already doing you a favour,” Allura says in a hushed tone, bringing her finger up to her lip mockingly. “You must come too!”

“What?!” Keith exclaimes, doing a double take as he stares at Allura in shock.

“I can’t invite Lance and then not you, that wouldn’t be fair at all!”

“Well, I guess if I’m not forced to dance then… it should be fine. I’ll probably just stick to the sides of the room or whatever,” Keith says, bitterly.

“Why is that? Wouldn’t you want to dance with the others?” Allura asks, even as she walks away to clean up the piles of paper and ink spills that cover her polished oak desk.

“Not particularly. I kind of… don’t want Lance to know if I’m there. I feel like he’ll be too worried about if I’m watching and what I’m thinking to actually enjoy himself,” Keith says, still awkwardly hanging by the door as Allura walks across the room, carrying on as if he wasn’t there. She seals envelopes and quickly scribbles on an address, even with her perfect penmanship.

“I see…” Something flickers in Allura’s eye, the small spark of an idea brewing in the deep corners of her mind. “That’s very considerate of you, Keith. You’re a good man.” Why do people keep saying that?

Keith shakes off the through and turns back to the matter at hand. “Well, this whole thing is kind of for Lance,” Keith says with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at the ground. “I’m just there because you need me to be, not out of a genuine desire to attend.”

“Regardless of the logistic of the situation, you’re doing a very kind thing. I’m sure Lance will appreciate it.” Princess Allura turns and her dress spins around her, puffing out like a ball gown. “However, I will need one final thing from you.” Keith only barely bites back a groan. Of course, an invitation to a royal ball wouldn’t be easy to acquire.

“And what would that be?”

“Do you know Lance’s measurements?” Wow, that could be taken a multitude of ways. “Just his height and arm span should suffice. I’ll need the same information from you too if that’s not too much trouble.”

“Why do you need to know?” Keith asks, rather bluntly. He bristles for a moment but otherwise doesn’t rephrase his comment.

“Well, how else can I get suits made?” Allura snorts loudly and muffles her laughter with her palm. It’s as if the very idea of Keith not being acquainted with the in’s and out’s of tailoring a suit laughable. Which is both kind of mean and hilarious at the same time.

Keith’s eyes widen when he realises exactly what she’s doing, “Princess, I can’t ask this of you. You’re already letting us attend the ball -- that’s more than enough!”

“Pfft, did you really think that I’d force you to wear those old hand-me-downs?” Allura mocks with a kind smile, leisurely gesturing at Keith’s outfit, more specifically at the worn knees and ripped hems.

“Princess-” Keith tries one more time, but she interrupts him almost immediately.

“Shush! I want to do this for you. Just think of it as a gift from a friend.” Allura stares him down, the both of them stuck in a silent standoff until Keith finally gives in and slumps over. “However, I feel as if you’re keeping something from me, Keith.” Allura eyes him suspiciously for a few moments, still celebrating her victory.

Keith sighs loudly and accepts the reality of the situation. That being that Princess Allura always gets her way. You know, he’s come this far, he may as well tell Allura everything. “I may have one more idea for a surprise for Lance…” Allura’s face lights up as if she’s the one who Keith’s doing all of this for.

“Oh! Tell me! Tell me!” Keith rolls his eyes and steps closer, cupping one hand around Allura’s ear before leaning in and whispering. After a moment, she lets out an excited squeal. “Keith, that’s perfect! Shiro is outside; I’m sure he’ll help you out.”

“Thanks, Princess.” For a moment -- an bizzare and outlandish moment -- Keith is overcome with the desire to wrap his arms around her and hold her in a tight embrace(platonically, of course). The feeling is a fleeting one, but he’s still left the lingering desire. Keith, instead, places his hand on her shoulder and awkwardly pats a few times. “I’m going to start setting up. If Lance asks where I am… just tell him I’m out running errands.” It’s probably best for him to leave before he makes this any more awkward. He makes his way out of her office before he turns around and yells one last thing over his shoulder. “AND KEEP HIM AWAY FROM THE FOREST!! I DON’T WANT HIM FINDING IT BEFORE IT’S DONE!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out. <3
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. <3


	12. May I have this dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ren and I were super excited to get this chapter out, so we both really hope you enjoy it!!

Moonlight filters through the forest canopy, breaking off into perfect arrows of glistening silver. Small fragments of the inky black sky above flash through the trees as they rustle in the breeze. Coloured shards of glass and bottles clink as a chorus of wind chimes floats through the otherwise silent forest – turns out all the vases and windows Lance broke were good for something after all.

Sunlight hits the glass, fragmenting off into smaller rays of light, casting a rainbow glow over the whole forest. The branches from which the glass and bottles hang from gleam a variety of colours, some painted with a deep red hue; while others glow a natural green.

The orange glimmer of candlelight creates a clear path through the forest, leading anyone who may enter into the clearing where Keith currently stands. Twigs, leaves and rocks have been cleared from the area, left in an unceremonious pile just behind the tree line. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Keith makes a few final adjustments, happily breathing in the crisp night air with a gentle sigh. He’s grown to love the scent of pine that fills the forest, the earthy musk of nature that still lingers just outside of the castle grounds. It never fails to calm him down.

Keith would never, not in a million years, call himself an interior decorator; or an exterior decorator for that matter. But, you know what? He might as well be because damn, he did a great job. Sure, Shiro helped out a  _ little  _ , but Keith was calling the shots. Honestly, he’s really outdone himself.

Which isn’t saying much considering this is the first time he’s done anything remotely close to this. So, the standards aren’t exactly high.

“Keith… this is pretty amazing,” Shiro says, taking a step back with his hands planted firmly on his hips.

“You could say that again,” Keith says, throwing more flower petals on the ground; because, yes, Lance made him this extra. It’s just a  _ tasteful  _ amount of flower petals, he’s not a monster after all. “Thanks for helping, Takashi, it means a lot.”

“It’s fine. Though…” Shiro pauses for a moment, “there is something I’d like you to do for me.”

Keith gives him a quizzical look. “What do you need?”

“Just call me Shiro!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up.

“How about this, you help me add the finishing touches. I’ll see what Lance thinks and then I’ll consider calling you Shiro,” Keith says, reaching up to tie a small piece of twine around the branch of a nearby tree. “Takashi,” he adds, for no reason other than to annoy him.

Shiro – Or Takashi, who knows at this point – rolls his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t fight it. “You’ll come around eventually.”

“Yeah… don’t hold your breath.”

“I know you’re more open with us now. Everyone can tell.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just the same as when I first arrived," Keith mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he stares at the tree trunk in front of him, his hand resting against the bark.

“You may be able to lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me,” Shiro says before turning to Keith, “you wouldn’t have done something like this when you first arrived, maybe not even a month ago. You’ve opened up to us, Keith, just accept that.”

“I haven’t,” Keith spits bluntly, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

“Right, you’re only close to Lance,” he teases, his tone insinuating a completely different brand of ‘ _ close  _ ’ – one that you really wouldn’t associate with two bros being bros.

Keith spins around. “SHIRO!!” Keith yells indignantly, his breath racing as his face exploded in a red flush, spanning the entirety of his face and even extending to the tips of his ears. Silence falls over the forest, as his voice echoes for a moment. Keith realises exactly what he said and immediately fails to save face, “I- I mean! Takashi!”

“NO TAKE BACKS, YOU CALLED ME SHIRO!!” he yells, his expression nothing short of ecstatic. Shiro leaps across the clearing, bending down to wrap his arms around Keith’s thighs before hoisting him in the air. He jumps, jostling Keith in the air as the smaller boy yelps, gripping Shiro’s shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep his balance.

“Put me down!” Keith shouts, trying not to laugh, pushing against Shiro’s shoulders as he attempts to pull his legs out of his iron grip, failing miserably. “I’m not kidding, Takashi!”

“No way! You can’t say Takashi ever again!” As some form of reward – or punishment, depending on how you look at it – Shiro jostles Keith again, clearly only holding him in the air because Keith openly hates it. Yeah, this is definitely some kind of punishment; probably for taking this long to actually call him Shiro.

He brought this on himself, didn’t he?

“Okay, okay! I get it, Shiro!” Keith laughs, desperately kicking and pushing against Shiro, with just a little success as last time. Shiro finally lets up and allows Keith to slide back down to the ground, his legs a little shaky when he finally lands with a quiet thud. “Ugh, I hate you,” he says, playfully pushing Shiro back.

“Do you though?” Shiro says, a knowing smirk on his face.

Keith scoffs and crosses his arms. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as other people,” he says, begrudgingly.

“Wow, Keith, you have such a way with words!” Shiro places a hand on his forehead and leans back, dramatically gasping as he fans himself. “Be still my beating heart!”

“Never mind, I hate you more than most people.” Keith looks around the forest, a small feeling of satisfaction growing within in, spreading through his body like a raging wildfire. It leaves a simmering warmth in the pit of his stomach, a sensation he’s not quite used to. Pride.

He really has to say that he’s done a great job here, which isn’t usually something he can say. He can only hope that Lance will love it; which is a pretty good chance at this point, because, for some reason, Lance loves everything he does. A light flickers in the back of his mind, an idea popping into his head. Could Lance be in… no, that doesn’t make sense. That’s simply absurd.

Keith shakes off the thought and turns back towards Shiro, “Do you think we’re done?” he asks, already pretty sure of the answer himself.

“Yeah, probably…” Shiro glances around the forest, silently mulling over everything the two of them have put together. “Should we go get Lance?”

“I – uh.” Keith takes one more looks around the clearing, looking over every minute detail for the millionth time.  _ You’ve got this _ , he tells himself, the voice in his head firm and unwavering,  _ Lance will love it, and if anything he’ll just lose his mind just because of the effort you put in. _ “You get him, I’ll just wait out here.”

“Okay suit yourself,” Shiro says and turns on his heel, he fumbles for a moment and freezes, turning around momentarily. “And Keith?”

“Yeah?” he responds, looking up from the ground.

“I’m proud of you, of how much you’ve changed.” And with that, he’s gone.

Keith stands, shell-shocked, in the cold night air, his mouth slightly parted and eyes unblinking. The ghost of a smile makes its way across his face, the same warm feeling spreading through his gut. Even so, he doesn’t know if he should be excited or disappointed. After all, no matter what happens, he’s going to have to leave this place. Shiro, Lance, Allura… and even Hunk and Pidge to a certain extent will be disappointed when he leaves, even more so when they find out why he’s been here so long.

He sighs loudly and looks up at the sky, almost in search of an answer in the stars high above. This is a catch-22 situation he never envisioned himself stuck in. His procrastination –even with the express purpose of killing Allura – is one of the only reasons she’s still alive. If he was gone, someone else would be here in his place, someone who could actually get the job done without… well, developing unnecessary (or completely necessary, as he’d argue now) feelings.

Even so, he can’t find it in himself to regret this whole situation, as insane as that may be. If he wasn’t here, he’d still be that same ignorant kid who decided he didn’t need anyone in his life. This entire journey has changed him, that he’s certain of. Maybe it’ll only end tragedy… but don’t all great love stories? Then again, there’s nothing stopping him from getting that fairy-tale love story every child dreams of. 

“Keith?” A voice calls from behind him, completely shocked. Keith is violently pulled from his thoughts, his mind reeling for a few moments as he drifts back into reality. He was really caught up in his own head, wasn’t he?

“Uh – hi,” he sputters, not nearly as prepared for this as he’d like to be. He turns to see Lance standing in front of the tree line, his widened eyes flitting around the clearing as he gapes. His face melts from shock to awe, the sea of blue in his eyes almost sparkling in the candlelight.

“What… is this?” He says with a shocked smile, not quite sure of what he’s seeing. “Is… is this why you’ve been missing all day?”

“Yeah, um…” You’ve got this, just say what you want to. Keith takes a deep breath and continues, “Shiro helped me… set all of this up for you.” There’s a knot his throat, a physical pressure that stops him from saying what he wants. His hands grow clammy and suddenly the forest feels far hotter than before. Is the sun suddenly out again? Why is he so hot and sweaty?

“You… did this for me?” Half of his mouth quirks up and curls at the edges as he tilts his head over so slightly to the side. His eyes still drift through the forest, not quite understanding or registering the sights around him.

“Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say… before,” Keith says, staring down at his shoes as if they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Lance opens and closes his mouth a few times, nothing ever coming out as he tries to find the right words; apparently, nothing coming to mind. Keith jumps in, taking his stunned silence as discomfort, “I know it’s nothing am—”

“Why?” Lance suddenly says, his voice strong and forceful. He clenches his fists and stares at Keith, a spark hidden in his eyes.

“-azing,” Keith finishes, blinking a few times before continuing, “wait, what?”

“This is amazing, beautiful even… but why? Why for me? Why this?” The spark grows larger, expanding into an all-consuming inferno, burning with an emotion Keith can’t quite place. There’s the slight hint of a grin on his face, something that Keith doesn’t notice in the chaos that is his brain right now.

“Oh right… so you remember how earlier today I was asking you about that ball?”

“Vaguely?”

“Well, um… this is kind of your own private ball?” Keith says, flinching slightly. He slowly finds himself calming down, remembering that it’s only Lance he’s talking to. Gorgeous, amazing,  _ fucking perfect  _ Lance. The same boy he’s grown to really like. Everything is fine, he’s comfortable around Lance, there’s nothing to fear. Swallowing his nerves and finding the right words, he continues, “I just thought you’d like to have a practice run through, before the real thing. Plus, I wanted to do something for you… as a thank you.”

“Keith! This is amazing, how can I th- wait, did you say before the real thing?”

“Oh, that’s actually part two of this gift. I talked to Allura about the ball and she really wants you to go, as a guest, not a servant. I’ve organised everything with her. She’s sending a tailor over to make a suit and there’s a lovely girl who wants to go with you.” Keith extends his hands, mimicking something Lance once referred to as 'jazz hands' (whatever that means) while quietly mumbling a 'ta da!' under his breath. 

“Keith, this is—” Lance breaks off with a scream, running up to Keith, placing his arms on his shoulders and harshly pulling him forward. “I could kiss you!” The spark in Lance’s eyes from before only grows bigger as he stares down at Keith, a goofy grin covering his face.

Keith stares up at Lance, completely and utterly dumbfounded. His brain, in that moment, decides to melt into a useless pile of mush. “I—uh – that’s –” he sputters, completely and utterly tongue-tied, the blush on his face rivalling the deepest and darkest of roses. All logical thought and reason flew out the window the second he looked up at Lance, and he’s still staring helplessly. Is it just him or is Lance holding him far too close for comfort?

Lance is going to kill him. This is how he dies. Honestly, not the way he was expecting to go, but he’s okay with that. He can see it now:

**_R.I.P._ **

**_Keith Kogane._ **

**_Spontaneously combusted soon after a cute boy said, “I could kiss you!”_ **

**_He lived a good life._ **

“I… wouldn’t be opposed to that happening,” Keith says… internally, because he's still so completely tongue-tied and can’t even so much as say his own name.

“So, I’m sure you have…  _ plans  _ ,” Lance says with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Keith manages to shake off his panic. “Piss off,” Keith snorts, playfully punching him in the shoulder. “I was thinking I could help you with your dancing, just to get rid of nerves, you know?”

“Wait… let me get this straight.” Keith bites back a snicker, there’s no way this situation is straight in any sense of the word. “You, Keith ‘two left feet’ Kogane, want to help me dance? The same boy who didn’t even know what dancing was a few months ago?”

“Well, I was more just planning to follow your lead, not actually teach anything. Like, someone to practice with, that way you don’t accidentally step on her toes, or something.” Keith says, shrugging while faking nonchalance, pretending as if he doesn’t  _ really _ want to dance with Lance.

Lance walks past Keith, his arms behind his back and face purposely neutral. “So, this is our own private ball?” he questions, a single finger gently tracing the lines of one of the countless shards of glass hanging elegantly from the trees. The purple, pink and blue fragments shine in the moonlight, the shimmering reflections framing his features perfectly, giving him an ethereal sheen. The whites in his eyes glow a faint purple, turning the usual blue hues of his iris a deep violet. Lance flicks one of the glass shards with an outstretched finger, smiling gently when it swings back and forth, colliding with the other glass fragments.

Keith nods, completely dumbfounded (yet again) with his eyes wide and mouth parted. He gulps as Lance continues to walk around, examining everything Keith has so carefully put together. Lance eventually laps the whole clearing, finding his way back to Keith, his expression as unreadable as before.

_ 'Does he hate it? Does he think it’s excessive? Does he like it? Is he annoyed that I did all of this behind his back?' _

Thoughts swirl through Keith’s head, wreaking havoc within the confines of his mind. Lance doesn’t seem to be in the same predicament as he bends over, bowing neatly, one hand pressed against the small of his back and the other extended in front of him, tightly grasping Keith’s hand. Keith holds his hand out in front of him, not really sure what he’s supposed to be doing as he simply stands there awkwardly.

“If this is just for the two of us…” Lance trails off as he stands back up, his hand still intertwined with Keith’s. He roughly pulls Keith forward, pulling him into his chest as his other hand wraps around his waist. He looks down into Keith’s eyes, voice unwavering as he says, “may I have this dance?

Keith blinks on shock by slowly pulls himself out of it, dragging himself back to the reality of the situation. Keith tilts his head to the side and smiles warmly, “Do you even need an answer?” Lance similes in kind and steps backwards, pulling Keith back with him.

“Follow my lead, okay?” Lance says, their hands interlaced. _ That’s what he said last time you two danced,  _ Keith’s mind supplies,  _ during your first week here, when you were cleaning the ballroom. Ironic, is it not?  _ He internally chastises himself but doesn’t say a word, instead choosing to focus on Lance. “Don’t overthink it; dancing should come naturally.”

Keith nods and Lance takes that as acceptance, pulling him backwards and pushing him forwards gently with each step they take. Keith’s steps are clunky and awkward, a clear result of overthinking and lack of confidence (and skill, but let’s not talk about that).

Keith’s eyes find themselves glued to the ground, watching his own feet carefully, glaring at them as if they’d betray him the second he looked away. _ 1, 2, 3,  _ he counts out in his head, stepping with each beat. He can feel his eyebrows furrowing as his face scrunches up in a mixture of both confusion and concentration. He flinches, grimacing as Lance hisses sharply through his teeth. “Sorry,” he mumbles, immediately taking a step back while making a special note  _ not _ to step on Lance’s feet.

“It’s okay, I’ve had worse partners,” Lance says, the slight hesitation in his steps not going unnoticed by Keith.

“I strongly doubt that.” Proving his own point, Keith stumbles over his own feet a few seconds later, his only saving grace being that Lance catches him before he falls.

Lance guides him back to his feet and doesn't even so much a tease him about it. “No, really," Lance insists, "have I told you how I learnt to dance?” Keith shakes his head. “Well, my mother taught me at a young age… little did I know it was actually a sick scheme to get me to teach the rest of my family.”

Keith laughs and throws his head back, Lance takes that moment to dip Keith and spin him in a circle. He throws his arms back, allowing Lance to do to all the work as he twirls around in a slow circle. Lance leans forward too, still holding Keith tightly. Lance slowly pulls Keith back up, the two of them momentarily standing nose to nose. Keith finds his hands cupping Lance’s cheeks naturally as he pulls himself back up. His hands trail down the sides of Lances face, down his neck and across his.. surprisingly broad and muscular shoulders (God help him).

They fall back into a natural rhythm, Keith copying Lance’s movements to the best of his ability – which, if he’s being honest, isn’t much. “So, as I was saying,” Lance continues, “my mum only taught me to dance because all of my sisters needed a guy to practice with.”

“Don’t you have two other brothers? Mark and Lucas, Right?” He wracks his mind, thinking back to the last time Lance raved about his family. The names are on the tip of his tongue... if he could just--

Lance’s face softens, “You know what, close enough. I’m just happy you remembered.” Never mind, Lance loves it either way.

“Of course, I did!” Keith exclaims, pretending as if he wasn’t just completely lost on what their names were.

“Well, regardless of why, in the end, I was the only McClain boy who knew how to dance. Meaning I was constantly stepped on, smothered and spun by my sisters.” Lance stares off into the distance, clearly having traumatic flashbacks of some kind, he almost gags and elaborates, “not to mention it’s awkward enough to dance with someone as it is, you know, rubbing against each other, accidentally brushing one another; it’s even worse when it’s your sister.”

Keith grimaces, “I’m never been more grateful for being an only child.” It’s only then that Keith notices that they’ve been dancing, almost perfectly, this whole time. Maybe Lance was right about not overthinking it.

_ 'Maybe that’s why I couldn’t dance last time we tried. I was too focused on my job and what Lance would think of me… and not what was actually happening.' _

“You’re thinking too loud,” Lance says, his fingers tightening around Keith’s waist.

“Huh?”

“I can tell something is on your mind. Care to share?” he clarifies, the both of them still swaying to their imagined music.

Keith sighs, “Do you remember when you taught me how to dance a few months ago? You know, when we stood on our scrub brushes and you dragged me around the room?” he asks, looking up from his feet to meet Lance’s eyes.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Lance replies, a fond expression washing over his face.

“I was just thinking about how much has changed since then,” Keith says before snickering under his breath. “I mean, you’re still a great dancer… and I’m still a fumbling mess.”

“But?” Lance prompts him to elaborate further.

“But… I don’t know,” Keith shrugs, shifting his hands so they’re wrapped around the back of Lance’s neck, while Lance’s arms drift down to gently hold his waist. “Something feels different.”

Lance looks away for a moment, his eyes drifting across the shimmering lights that surround the two of them, the petal-covered forest floor and eventually, back the boy in front of him. “I could think of a few things,” he whispers, leaning closer so their noses are barely brushing.

There’s thundering in his chest and a twisting sensation in Keith’s gut. It’s a feeling that he’s now grown to accept, and something he’s positive he wouldn’t have understood a few months ago. “You know what? I can too,” Keith whispers in turn, pressing their foreheads together. Even now, Keith can see the fluorescent gleam of the lights behind Lance, the way they make his skin shine like caramel.

Whoa, did he really just compare Lance’s skin to  _ caramel  _ ? Damn, he’s further gone than he thought.

Both Keith and Lance stare into each others’ eyes for a few moments, swaying back and forth in perfect time, foreheads pressed together. Lance’s hot breath fanning across his face – especially in contrast to the cool night air that surrounds them – it’s far too distracting. The tree line and canopy above them serves as a protective dome, keeping this whole scene private and entirely their own.

“Can I dip you?” Lance asks, leaning closer, his eyes slightly hazy and half-lidded. As if he’s only now realising what’s happening, his eyes widen as he jolts away. “I mean, can I practice dipping you? For, you know, to practice! For scientific purposes! I won’t drop you, I swear!”

“Yes, you can  _ scientifically _ dip me,” Keith says, rolling his eyes lightly. Lance grins and shifts his grip from the small of Keith’s back to just below his shoulders, digging his fingers into the fabric of Keith’s tunic. Lance wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders in preparation, giving him a confirming nod. Rather than leaning with him, Lance sweeps Keith to the side and lets Keith fall backwards, catching him midway. Keith extends one of his legs for balance as Lance holds him, giving him a momentary feeling of weightlessness.

Lance blinks, a small flush covered the bridge of his nose as he looks down at Keith. “Wow. You look...bea- OH MY GOD!” Lance starts slowly, almost in awe before he screams loudly, losing his footing in a panicked state. Both Keith and Lance fall to the ground with a loud thud.

The air is knocked from his lungs as Lance collapses on top of him, completely smothering him until he pushes himself off Keith with a loud groan. Lance plants his hands on either side of Keith’s head, catching his breath after the fall.

“So, _ ‘I promise I won’t drop you,’ _ huh? How’d that turn out?” Keith says with a cocky grin, leaning back on his elbows to look up at Lance.

“I’m sorry! I thought I saw a spider!” Lance exclaims, making no attempt to actually get off Keith. 

“Well, if there was one, it’s gone now, considering how loudly you screamed,” Keith retorts, rubbing his ear with a loud groan, “I think you broke my ear.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Lance says in a rather indicative tone.

“No,” Keith responds, flinching slightly as he rubs his ear again. “I’m pretty positive it’s a thing.” Lance chuckles once under his breath, slowly escalating to a full-blown laugh. His eyes scrunch into half crescents as he laughs harder. Keith quirks an eyebrow and looks at Lance quizzically before saying, “What’s so funny?”

“No, it’s just that—” Lance cuts himself off with a snort and Keith decides that Lance has no right be acting that adorable. “— You literally fell for me, like, twice today.”

“Hey, you fell too!” Keith laughs, jabbing Lance’s chest teasingly. Lance chuckles and shifts above him, resting on his hands and knees above him, his hair falling

“I know, but I fell for you a long time ago, Keith,”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, his voice smooth and relaxed. Lance slowly leans down, his eyes half-lidded.

“Huh, I never actually thought about that…”

“Well, it’s true,” Lance whispers yet again, moving down to rest above Keith on his forearms, their foreheads pressed together for the second time tonight. The fact that Lance’s bottom lip brushes against his top lip doesn't go unnoticed. To most people, it would be as clear as day that Lance is, in fact, going in for a kiss. Keith is… not one of those people.

Keith turns his head to the side, completely missing the confusion (and a little bit of disappointment) that washes over Lance’s expression. “I mean,” he says, continuing what he was saying before, “I don’t remember it… but, I’m sorry if you fell because of me? Though, I don’t know what kind of situation would have caused that.” Keith furrows his eyebrows, getting the odd feeling that he’s missing something very important in this conversation.

“Oh my god, you’re the densest person I’ve ever met,” Lance laughs, dropping his head onto Keith’s chest, almost hysterically. “Should I just tell you what I mean?”

“Yeah, that’d be helpfu- Mmphf?!” Keith starts to tease before he’s so rudely cut off by Lance – Well, Lance’s lips. Lance is kissing him, that’s what he’s trying to say. Lance McClain, the same boy who he shares a room with, is apparently interested enough in Keith to kiss him. Yes, he will repeat that fact a million times, or at least enough times to settle in.

Keith lies, there helplessly staring up at Lance with wide eyes as his entire brain implodes. If Lance saying he could kiss him didn’t kill him, Lance actually kissing him certainly will. Lance hovers above him, eyes closed and hand cupping the back of Keith’s head, fingers interlaced in his hair.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, OH GOD, his brain chants, while simultaneously setting itself on fire and freezing all at the same time. He should be kissing Lance back, he really should, but he can’t even begin to process what’s happening.

From what he’s heard, first kisses are supposed to be slow, elegant and magical moments, in which two people passionately embrace one another. Apparently, he’s heard wrong because Keith can’t even begin to grasp a semblance of elegance in this situation, let alone respond with anything resembling passion.

Is it magical? Fuck yeah. Is it slow or elegant? No… no, it’s really not.

Slowly, Lance pulls away, his fingers still in Keith’s hair and mouth only centimetres away from Keith’s.  “Sorry, I just had to do that,”

“Ummm?!” Keith so eloquently expresses, the entirety of his face covered in a deep blush, reaching through to his ears, neck and even shoulders. “That was… way more than words!”

“Was that… not okay?” Lance says, looking like a kicked puppy.

“No! No!” Keith fumbles, waving his arms around. “It was just unexpected,” Keith says, smiling awkwardly while deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“So, would it be okay if I… tried that again?” Lance asks, hooking his finger under Keith’s jaw before carefully leading their eyes back together.

“I… Uh—” Keith’s stomach twists violently when he looks into Lance’s eyes, though, not in a bad way. “Yeah, I’d like that.” And with that, Lance gently tips Keith’s head back and leans back in. Keith smiles into the kiss and slowly wraps his arms around Lance before pulling him closer.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I write a bunch of other stuff over on Tumblr if you want to check that out. <3
> 
> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there too. <3


	13. The first date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I really enjoyed writing this chapter (because season 8 really killed me).  
> It's adorable and I just needed this to heal my soul. Anyway, enjoy!

_ Back and forth. _

_ Back and forth. _

Keith sweeps the floors in long and slow drags, rhythmically swaying. It’s the early hours of the morning, the sun’s only barely risen, and the cold chill is still hanging in the halls of the castle. He’s never been a heavy sleeper; every other night he’s awake at – what Lance calls – ‘ungodly hours’. It’s not a bad thing, he’s just an early riser.

_ Back and forth. _

_ Back and forth. _

Lance will appreciate Keith making a start on their chores. Maybe they’ll finish early today, and they can go for a stroll in the forest or something. Maybe to the markets? Keith finds himself smiling at the thought, his eyes still trained on the ground below.

_ Back and forth. _

_ Back and forth. _

Keith slowly walks by a window, an orange glow seeping through the thin, dust-covered, cracked glass. As light slips through the rifts in the glass, the orange light turns a dull white, reflecting across the polished wooden floor as if it was the surface of a vast ocean. Lights of orange, white and yellow mingle and fade into one another. It’s always nice at this hour. The castle is still completely silent, and even the mice occasionally glance at him as they scamper past, usually towards Allura’s room.

“Keith, come back to bed,” A voice carries through the silent hall, the quiet sound of footsteps following not too long after. A pair of strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him back as the person in question rests their chin on his shoulder.

“It’s already morning, there’s no point,” Keith whispers, leaning back against Lance with a quiet sigh. Lance has been a lot more touchy-feely since their night in the forest – not that Keith’s complaining. It’s just… Keith isn’t sure what they are. He at least knows they’re more than friends; he’s not that dense.

He’s been meaning to ask Lance. It’s not like he’s planning to silently brood and wonder, it’s just that he hasn’t found the time. Every time he tries to ask, something else comes up. Lance yawns quietly and pulls him closer, “Ugh, it’s too early though.” 

“You can’t use me as an excuse to stay in bed all day.”

“I’m not using you, I’m simply taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself, an extremely adorable opportunity which should stop working.”

“I only just started, Lance.”

“Then it should be even easier for you to stop,” Lance says. When he notices that he’s not getting anywhere, he sighs and let’s go of Keith. He walks around and rips the broom out of Keith’s hands before tossing it across the hall. It lands on the floor with a loud clatter that echoes through the castle for a few seconds. Lance flinches for a moment but continues anyway, “How about this. You stop working for once and we go out and get some breakfast. Hunk usually opens the bakery around this time.”

It’s not like Keith really has a choice, considering his broom is currently on the other side of the freaking room. “Only if you pay,” Keith says with a sly smile.

Lance hums noncommittally for a moment, his mind clearly already set, “You drive a hard bargain, but okay.”

“Alright, go get changed. Should I go tell Princess Allura where we’re going?”

“Nah, she’ll still be asleep. Trust me, you do not want to wake that girl up,” Lance laughs, “She always lets people come and go from the castle, she won’t mind if we head out for a little stroll around the town. Given that we’re back at a reasonable hour.”

“Okay, I’ll go grab the horses and meet you around front?” Lance nods. He only takes a few steps back down the hall before he freezes in place. “Oh, I forgot something,” Lance says, spinning back around. Keith hums and tilts his head, looking at him quizzically. Lance quickly swoops in for a kiss, it only lasts a few seconds and doesn’t give Keith a chance to respond. Before he knows it, Lance is already heading down the hall back to their room. “Bye Keith!” Lance calls behind him, his tone teasing and melodic.

Keith smiles softly and brings a hand to his lips, a single finger brushing across his bottom lip. Keith spins on his heel and heads down the hall, a thick blush on his cheeks. Things have been oddly domestic lately, and Keith loves it. Like, how could he not?

Keith makes his way down the hall, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. As he reaches for the wooden doors at the main entrance, three of the mice scutter past his feet, squeaking loudly. He takes his hand off the surface and stares down at them, furrowing his eyebrows. Did they just… wink at me? he thinks, doing a double take. God, he’s going crazy inside this place.

Maybe going out for breakfast is a good idea.

Making his way out of the castle, Keith strolls across the grounds, knowing each winding path and garden shrub like the back of his hand. The stables are only a quick walk away, the distant sound of hooves and whinnying filling the air as Keith grows closer. Keith forces a small, polite smile as he passes a few soldiers on horseback, the royal crest hanging from the saddles. The soldiers nod sharply, each making idle conversation with Keith as they pass.

Soon enough, Keith finds himself outside the stables, a maroon horse poking her head over the gate in her stall, neighing loudly as he approaches. “Hey girl, sorry I haven’t been around lately,” he apologises, cooing sightly as he strokes down her mane. “Lance and I are going out on the town today,” he says, smiling widely.

Keith grabs her saddle off the wall next to him and clicks the gate open. Red, without hesitation, nudges the gate open and happily trots out, swishing her tail behind her. Keith throws the saddle on her back, adjusting it before carefully strapping it in place. Blue huffs loudly from behind him. Keith lets her out of her stall, repeating the process with Lance’s saddle.

He huffs out a laugh as his fingers trail over the etching in the leather of his own saddle. ‘Lance was here!’ A heart carved in at the end of the phrase. “God!” Keith groans, uselessly flopping on Red, leaning his back against her side. “I like this nerd so much. Feelings are bullshit!” Red whinnies sympathetically. Keith sighs and hooks his foot stirrup and swings his leg over her saddle, settling in as he grabs Blue’s reign to guide her next to Red.

Keith soothes his horse and gently squeezes her torso with his legs and eases her into a lazy gallop, Blue happily trotting by her side. “So, Lance and I are going to get some breakfast, so we’ll have to drop you off at one of the stables in town,” he explains, knowing full well the horses can’t… you know, understand him. “But, we shouldn’t be long! We’ll just stop by a few stalls and get something from the bakery. I think the Princess’s chefs are out of apples, so we’ll probably grab some of those too…if they’re in season.”

It’s not long until Keith is waved down by an ecstatic Lance. Keith’s heart skips a beat when he comes into view. “Hey!” Lance greets and takes Blue’s reigns from him, gently cooing praises before he jumps on her back. “So, off to the town?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Keith says, pride swelling up inside of him as he manages to keep the quiver in his voice at bay. They make idle chatter throughout their trip, the kind of conversation that’s grown to be natural for the two of them. It’s not awkward or forced and Keith finds himself laughing through the conversation.

It jumps from thread to thread, in one moment they’re talking about how dogs are clearly better than cats and in the next they’re daydreaming about what it’d be like to fly. Lance likes to think that one day someone will evolve wings and eventually the entire human race will be able to fly.

Even so, Keith finds himself distracted. There’s a nagging in the back of his head, a loud voice constantly reminding him about the matter at hand. It’s different than the voices that intrude his thoughts with reminders of his job back at the castle. It’s almost relaxing? It’s hard to explain.

The point is, his brain has been nothing short of screaming at him to ask Lance about their relationship. Curiosity is practically burning up his insides.

You’ve got this, Keith. Just calmly and subtly ask him about yo-- “Are we dating?” Keith blurts out, slapping his hands over his mouth a moment later, his eyes wide. Keith has never wanted to crawl into a hole and die so much in his entire life.

Lance laughs and shakes his head. “Well, I’ve always said I like how straightforward you are.” 

“I was just wondering… about us? Like, if we’re – you know – official?” The words tumble out without much thought, his mind working against him as he reaches for something that makes remote sense.

“You mean, boyfriends?” Lance says, his voice significantly calmer, but even he can’t hide the undertones of unease.

“Yeah... that – those,” Keith hums awkwardly, glancing down at the ground below him as Red trots through the forest. He runs his hand over her mane, gently scratching behind her ear. “I… just don’t—” Keith sighs loudly— “I’ve never been in a relationship before.”

“Believe me, Keith, I expected that.”

“Hey!” Keith doesn’t know if he should be flattered that Lance knows him so well, or offended… that Lance knows him so well. It’s probably a mixture of both.

“I just mean that I knew this conversation was coming. I was planning on bringing it up after some breakfast because you’re always grumpy when you’re hungry, not to mention I wanted to plan out whatever the hell I was going to say.” Lance looks over at him. “But, I guess now’s a good of a time as ever.”

Keith chooses to stay silent and awkwardly fiddles with Red’s mane, his eyes flitting between Lance and the ground. 

“If you’re okay with it, I’d love to be your boyfriend. We’re already most of the way there if you haven’t noticed. Most friends don’t drag each other into abandoned hallways when their supervisor isn’t looking.” He can’t lie - that was a good afternoon. Until Coran busted them, then it rapidly turned into an awkward one.

“That was one time, and as I recall, you were the one doing the dragging,” Keith teases, watching as Lance momentarily loses his composure, his hands slipping on Blue’s reigns. It only lasts for a moment before he shakes it off and gives Keith a sly smirk.

“Guilty as charged.” Lance winks and Keith rolls his eyes. “Look, I like you a lot. So, yeah. I’d love to call you my boyfriend.” Keith’s heart jumps out of his chest and runs laps around the two of them while screaming ‘he likes me! He really likes me!’ at the top of its lungs. At least, that’s what it feels like.

Keith takes a deep breath and places a hand over his heart momentarily, checking to see if it’s really going to beat out of his chest. “I’d uh, really like that too.” Keith smiles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks over at Lance.

Lance gives him a smile that rivals the sun itself. “Then it’s settled! You’re now contractually obligated to kiss me whenever I so desire!” Lance announces, looking far too proud of himself. Which, isn’t rare. “Also, I get to use pet names.”

“But I hate pet names,” Keith groans. Now that he thinks about it, that’s probably why Lance is so insistent on using them. He wouldn’t put it past him. Keith hopes Lance doesn’t notice his apparent lack of objections in regard to the kissing front. No sir, there are no concerns here.

“Too bad, mi Corazon.” Keith groans loudly.

“God. I don’t even speak Spanish and I know that’s sickeningly sweet.” Lance has been trying to teach him the bare bones of Spanish for the longest time. Let’s just say, the lessons haven’t been going that well. It’s not that he’s not trying, he’s just… not the best student.

He knows enough to understand that Lance’s sentiment is possessive, meaning he’s calling Keith ‘mine’ or something close to that. Even if he doesn’t understand the second half, he flushes all the same. So maybe he secretly actually likes the pet names.

Lance doesn’t have to know that.

“Oh, good! We’re here,” Lance says with a wide smile, gesturing to the town that they find themselves in. With a quiet grunt, Keith swings himself off of Red and leads her to the nearby stable. “I’ll be right back!” Lance yells before running off, seeming to make a beeline for the nearby flower vendor. Odd.

Keith shrugs it off and heads over to the stable, horses trailing after him. He and the stable boy exchange pleasantries before he hands over a few silver pieces and passes the reigns of both Blue and Red over to him.

He doesn’t get a chance to wave the horses goodbye or even give the boy an answer on when they’ll be back before Lance is back by his side and roughly pulling him by the arm.  “Come on! There’s so much I need to show you!” The hustle and bustle within the town square is like nothing Keith has ever seen. It’s still early in the morning, no later than eight, yet the streets are filled with people.

Women with their children and workers alike cram into the tight passageways between buildings, taking short-cuts Keith didn’t even realise were there like it’s second nature. Everything is made of thick stone, worn down to the point where everything is rounded and smooth to the touch. It’s incredible.

The smell of food wafts thickly into the air; bread, meat, fruit and vegetable alike mingling in around them. There’s more food than anyone could possibly eat in a lifetime, each stall brimming with fresh produce or home-baked goods. Keith finds his mouth watering as he stares down at everything he passes.

Lance notices Keith’s awestruck gaze. “No, trust me, the best food you’ll find is with Hunk. Believe me, I’ve tried almost everything.” Keith doesn’t say anything and simply allows himself to be dragged along, taking in the sights as he does so. He’s never been out on the town, at least not in a town like this.

Food was scarce where he grew up, there was barely enough to eat, let alone sell. It’s still crazy, the idea that each and every stall of immaculate food isn’t ‘worthy’ enough for Lance. He only accepts the best. He finds himself smiling. Lance accepts him.

Lance’s hand is warm and soft against his own, and it’s a sensation he’s entirely certain he could find himself addicted to. Lance powers through the streets like a knight on a quest, his eyebrows furrowed and lips tight in concentration. He drags Keith as if he’s dying and this one bakery is the only thing that’ll save his life.

His mind wanders for a moment. It’ll be good to see Pidge and Hunk; the two of them haven’t come around to the castle for a while. He still can barely remember the first time they all met – he still blames Lance for that night. At least he got to make it up to them next time they came around for dinner.

“Hunk! My man, I come bearing gifts!” Lance throws open the door dramatically, holding Keith up by his wrist like a limp doll or some prize that he won. Keith grumbles and uses his other hand to pry Lance’s hand off of his wrist, sighing when he doesn’t budge.

This is his life now. Being paraded around by his boyfriend –- Jesus, Lance is actually his boyfriend – at every possible opportunity. And you know what, he’s entirely okay with that. Both Pidge and Hunk jump up from under the counter, the two of them covered in flour and god knows what else. Keith… doesn’t even want to know what happened.

Neither of them can get a word out before Lance is yelling again, “He needs…” Lance trails off and leans down, “Oi, babe, what do you want?” Lance whispers, all while Keith flushes helplessly. They established their relationship, what, half an hour ago? And Lance is already whipping out the pet names left and right.

“Um, just something sweet?” Keith shrugs, not too sure of himself, “You pick, you always know what to get me.” Lance preens under the praise.

Lance opens his mouth, but Hunk cuts him off before he can finish, “Let me guess, you want the finest pastries I have to offer, and you need them as soon as possible?” Lance closes his mouth and clicks his tongue, clearly thrown off his game, “you’ve been doing this for months. We get it, you’re trying to woo Keith,” Hunk says with a laugh before turning around and rummaging through the storage cupboards behind him.

“How did it go by the way? Gotten into Keith’s pants yet?”

“As a matter of a fact, yes!” Lance crosses his arms and turns away.

“Huh, guess I own Hunk $10,” Pidge shrugs before turning to Keith. “He’s had it bad for you for months now. Good on you for throwing the dog a bone. Honestly, I can’t count the number of times this boy and come in here and whined about you.”

Keith snickers, “Oh yeah, what does he say?” Lance lets out a sound somewhere between a scream and a squawk.

Pidge clears their throat and puts on their best Lance impression, “ _ Pidge you don’t understand, he’s so pretty! Pidge, he laughed at my joke today! Pidge! He said he’s gay, I have a chance! Pidge, he blushed when I flirted with him, do you think he’s interested? Pidge, I think I’m in lo— _ ”

“O-kaay! We’re stopping there, the show’s over!” Lance loudly announces as he slaps his hands over their mouth. Pidge let’s out a few muffled sounds but they’re completely incomprehensible. Lance laughs awkwardly, and Keith lifts a brow, tilting his head as he does so. “That last thing wasn’t important. Just, boring stuff about… work.”

“Pidge, give the guy a break,” Hunk heartily laughs before he slides a few pastries over the counter, everything wrapped neatly in a cloth sack. “For the record, I’m happy for you buddy. You too, Keith.”

“Thanks, Hunk,” Lance says with a soft smile, Keith echoing his sentiments.

“I’ll actually miss your little rants, they were always extremely entertaining.” Hunk leans against the counter, his body still covered in flour. He vaguely remembers Lance mentioning that trailing new recipes is always a messy business.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be making the rounds for Allura, so you’ll see me just as often.”

“Sounds good. Anyway, we won’t hold you up, enjoy your date!” Hunk smile, waving them off while Pidge cackles loudly. She knows something…

Keith immediately loses his train of thought when Lance grabs his hand again, leading him out of the shop and back onto the street. “Okay, how about a quick stop at the gardens before we head back to the castle?” They’re both prolonging their time here, not wanting the morning to end. Neither of them care though.

It’s times like this where Keith wishes he could stop time and live in this moment forever. Fingers intertwined with Lance’s, the sun shining down on the two of them, fresh pastries to share and not a single care in the world. Keith couldn’t ask for a better day if he tried.

It’s not long before Lance finds a small oak tree on the outskirts of town, hidden from the bustling streets. The perfect spot to hide from prying eyes. They both settle in under the tree, the countless branches shielding them from the harsh morning sun as it rises higher and higher, the canopy above them casting a shadow around them.

Keith opens the sack, gently tearing it into a long strip so he can lay the pastries out, creating a makeshift picnic. They both lean against the tree, their shoulders brushing as their hands naturally intertwine, resting lazily between them.

Keith looks over at Lance, nearly melting as the boy next to him stares off into the distance, deep in thought. Keith isn’t usually like this, but he can’t say he dislikes what Lance does to him. He really likes it. Even if acts like a bumbling fool every time he gets caught staring into Lance’s eyes.

Lance picks up one of the pastries and holds it up to Keith’s lips, “Here, do you want a bite?” Keith smiles and nods.  It’s one of the small peach tarts, golden crust encasing the peach filling in the centre, a dollop of whipped cream covering the top, everything covered in a thin layer of icing sugar. Keith gingerly takes a bite. No surprise, but it’s really good.

He honest to god nearly moans. Hunk’s got his baking down to an art,  _ good god _ . “See, I told you the other stalls weren’t worth visiting,” Lance says before taking a bite too, directly over where Keith just bit. For some reason, that makes him flush brighter than anything else.

Keith nods sharply, “I’ll never disagree with you ever again.” They share the rest of the pastries, sitting in a comfortable silence with their hands intertwined. There’s a few different tarts, a muffin, two scones and a some kind of flaked pastry that Keith’s never seen before. Overall, Keith finds both his heart and stomach full.

God, that sounds stupid.  _ Don’t say that out loud, Lance will laugh,  _ Keith reminds himself, shoving the last of the half eaten blueberry tart in his mouth before he can accidentally blurt anything out.

“Oh yeah, I got this for you while you were talking to the stable boy. I thought you’d like it,” Lance says before reaching into his satchel that he placed down next to him. It takes him a moment, but with a quiet ‘ah-ha!’ he pulls it from his bag.

It’s a small bouquet, with only three flowers to be precise. Each flawless in every way, each petal is shaped perfectly and unbent and the colour shines deeply and brightly, Keith’s never been too fussed over flowers – the hype never made much sense to him – but he can’t deny their beauty. They’re roses. One red, one blue and one purple. The thorns have been carefully pruned, leaving the stems smooth and safe to the touch.

“Lance, they’re beautiful,” Keith says, gently taking them from him. “Thank you.” Keith places a kiss on his cheek before gently running his finger along one of the petals. It resembles silk. The flowers that grew around the Galran Empire were tough like leather, more thorn than actual flower. In a sense, they were beautiful in their own way, even if you could never appreciate them up close. 

In an odd way, he kinda misses them. Keith runs his finger along the smooth surface where the thorns were carefully trimmed. You could say he’s learnt to see the beauty in imperfection? Who knows. Keith shakes the thought off and turns back to the matter at hand, twirling the small bunch of roses between his fingers. They really are beautiful. 

Keith turns at Lance clears his throat. “Well, I wanted our first date to be perfect,” Lance admits sheepishly. Huh, they really are on a date, aren’t they? That’s a nice thought. 

“You know you didn’t have to do all this, you’ve already won me over,” Keith says honestly. He knows he was mocking him alongside Pidge back at the bakery, but he’s been gone for Lance for just as long. It’s just taken until now to admit it.

“Yeah, well it’s not about winning you over. I just want to show that I appreciate you.” Keith can’t say anything, there really aren’t any words. Keith sits up and cups Lance’s face, pulling him up for a kiss. Lance is shocked, for a moment, but he soon melts into it. Keith shifts and straddles Lance’s waist, letting his hands drift down to his shoulders, lazily wrapping his arms around his neck. Lance shuffles and sits up, leaning against the tree behind them as he pulls Keith closer. Never breaking the kiss.

The bark of the tree grinds against Keith’s hands as they rest behind Lance’s back, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Lance’s lips are still dusted with the sugar from the pastries, his mouth tasting like peach. It’s addicting.

\----

They don’t get back to the castle until well after noon.

Let’s just say… they got distracted.

\---

“Allura is going to kill us,” Keith whispers, fighting back a laugh as they both sneak in through one of the entrances to the castle. They’re both a little too giddy from the day they’ve spent together, meaning they’re not quiet in the slightest.

“Shhh, we’ll be fine if we don’t get caught,” Lance responds, gently closing the doors behind him. Keith adjusts the collar of his shirt, taking special care to ensure that it covers his collarbone and neck. He flattens out his hair and takes a few shaky steps through the empty halls, Lance close behind him. Today has been amazing. Beyond amazing. Keith is officially on cloud nine and he’s never coming down.

Lance and Keith make their way down the corridor, quietly walking to their room as they tiptoe through the halls, hoping luck is on their side and no one happens to be patrolling the castle. “There you two are!” They both freeze instantly, slowly turning around to see Shiro standing rather threateningly behind them. Maybe if they move slow enough, Shiro won’t be able to see them. “The princess is waiting for you in her study.” Never mind, they’re busted. They’re so utterly busted.

But, if it the punishment for sneaking out is just a lecture from Princess Allura, Keith is more than willing to take that in his stride. Hell, he’ll happily do it again at this point. And based on the goofy grin that’s yet to fade from Lance’s face, he’s probably thinking the same.

“I see, thank you for informing us,” Keith says, nodding acutely before leading Lance in the direction of Allura’s study. Lance groans but lets Keith lead him for a change.

“Oh, and Keith?” He turns around momentarily to see Shiro smiling at the two of them. “You’ve got to get better at sneaking into the castle.” And with that Shiro heads down the hall, calmly walking away as if he was simply commenting on the weather.

Keith can feel his face burning a bright red, he doesn’t even need to look at Lance to know he’s smirking wickedly. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Lance says, more mockingly than accusingly.

“You didn’t need to,” Keith grits out, finally stopping outside of Allura’s study. Her door is slightly ajar, a clear invitation to enter. Keith mentally prepares himself for the chewing out of a lifetime and pushes open the door.

The two of them barely make it a few steps into the room before they notice the fact that Princess Allura isn’t alone. A man stands by the fireplace, staring up at the painting of a young Allura and her parents. Keith can’t quite make out any features, only that he’s clearly upper-class if his suit is anything to go by.

Keith gets the feeling that the princess didn’t call them in here to lecture them about their disappearance.

“Keith, Lance,” Princess Allura says with a wide smile, spinning around with her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair is tied up neatly, each strand tucked perfectly in place. Purple gloves span from the tips of her fingers to the end of her elbow, everything about her attire screaming formal event. “I’m pleased to say we have a guest with us! He’s travelled a long way to attend the ball and will be staying with us leading up to then.”

Lance’s eyes widen, clearly understanding what’s going on. Keith, however, is as confused as always. Guests staying in the castle must be common whenever the ball is being thrown. “Well, that’s lovely, princess,” Lance says, noting Allura’s posture and mimicking it to the best of his ability. He puts on a smile that Keith knows is forced and speaks in a demure tone, “the more the merrier, right?”

Keith follows suit, folding his hands neatly in front of him. The both of them try not to laugh as they exchange glances “Should Lance and I prepare a room for him?” Allura, thankfully, doesn’t notice their childlike behaviour and continues as per usual.

“Yes, that would be wonde—” Allura starts before she’s cut off by another voice, a voice that sends chills to the very core of Keith’s body. Dread washes over him in waves.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary, truly. I mustn’t cause any trouble for you or your staff,” The person says, with a gentle, melodic laugh. Keith feels faint and nauseous. His throat closes tightly as he stumbles back in shock. His world falls apart around him, crumbling and ripping at the seams.

The scars on his back ache and burn. His skin rips apart with the recollection of memories. His ears ring with the deafening sounds of his past, the cracking of bullwhips. 

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” The man in question says, smiling softly as Allura steps to the side. His voice is deep yet calming, the same tone a father would use to calm a child. A chill runs up Keith’s spine. The man holds his hand out, the deep purple skin covered in a thick layer of blood, his hand fisted around a clump of matted black hair. Keith blinks and it’s gone. “The name’s Lotor.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thusly, the shit hits the fan. 
> 
> You thought you'd get out of this chapter pain free?  
> HA!  
> I swear,,, things will get better,,, eventually.


	14. What is love? (baby don't hurt me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. The chapter title was supposed to be serious, but I couldn't type out the phrase "What is love?" without immediately thinking of the song.  
> Sorry for how long this chapter has taken guys, life has been CRAZY and honestly, I have no idea if the VLD fandom is even still alive, but here we are.  
> As always, enjoy and I'll see you all in the comments!

This is bad. This is bad.

This is so very fucking bad.

Each time Keith passes Lotor in the hallway, his heart and stomach switches places. The Galran prince stares at him knowingly every time, the knowing flicker of blood lust behind his eyes. He has Keith on a tight leash, knowing full well that he can do whatever he wants as long as Allura trusts him.

He knew this would happen; it was bound to happen. He’s been playing with fire for months now. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of his actions even if he should have. The Galra were always going to ‘check-up’ on him, he couldn’t have predicted that Lotor would be the one they’d send.

Keith sighs and forces a smile, stroking Blue’s main as Lance throws his saddle over her back. “Keith, I’ll be back later tonight,” Lance says, adjusting a few of the straps before tying it down around her waist. “It’s only a ten-hour round trip.”

The inky black sky turns a dim grey, darkness fading as morning breaks. It leaves the stars that hung in the sky lustreless in its wake as if the sun leached away their brightness. Millions of stars that once hid behind the ebony sky disappear as the sun creeps over the mountains. The sky turns a soft, light shade of pink, mingling with the orange horizon as the sun creeps further and further up into the sky.

An icy breeze blows through the forest, the warm glow of the sun yet to wash away the cold grasp of night. Dewdrops cling to leaves, similar to how thick layers of frost cover the windows. Snowflakes branch out from the corners of the windowpanes, turning the glass an opaque shade of white.  

Everything is peaceful. Even the birds seem to respect the thin layer of tranquillity that rests over the land, choosing to remain silent for the time being. People rarely wake before dawn, most people not seeing the reason to leave before it’s light out. It’s too effort to find your way around in the dark.

Though, Keith has never been normal.

He has always liked the dark. Where other children saw nothing but a murky void, he found comfort. With darkness came protection. At night, it was easier to sneak around. He often felt as if the moon was protecting him, shielding him from the blinding rays of the sun, the same light that always draws attention.

Though, it’s times like these where he can see the appeal of watching the sunrise. He appreciates a lot more nowadays “I know, just… be safe, okay?” Keith says, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice. Keith reaches out and grabs Lance’s hand and squeezes it.

Lance huffs under his breath but doesn’t pull his hand away. “I’ve made the trip plenty of times.” He looks up and makes direct eye-contact. “I’ll be fine, Keith,” He says firmly.

“Yeah, I know.” Keith leans back with a loud groan, it’s not really a secret that he’s trepidatious about this situation. “Just don’t do anything stupid—don’t deny it, doing stupid shit is basically your thing — and you better come straight back once you’ve done... uh, what are you doing again?” He trails off, his firm anger fading into confusion and eventual amusement.

“Just dropping by a market a few towns over.”

“Do you want me to wait up for you?”

“Nah, I probably won’t be back until sometime past one, don’t worry about it.”

“So, really… you’re back tomorrow.”

“Fuck off with ya’ technicalities. I’ll be back later tonight”

“Tomorrow,” Keith corrects, grinning widely as he tucks his hands behind his back, revelling in Lance’s frustrated groan.

Lance huffs and grips Blue’s reigns, straightening his back and settling into the saddle. “I’m leaving now,” he says, suddenly refusing to make eye contact.

Keith has never been one for controlling himself, so there’s no point in starting now. “And you’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I hate you so much,” Lance says as he grits his teeth, practically seething. Though, it’s clear he’s just trying to fight back a smile.

“You’ll hate me more tomorrow.”

“GOODBYE, KEITH!!”

“Have fun!” Keith yells, cupping his hands around his mouth, hoping to carry his voice to Lance. “And be safe!” He adds on for good measure, laughing until Lance finally fades from view.

Keith looks up to the sky, exhaling out of his nose with a satisfied smile.  As much as he’ll miss Lance—and he won’t admit that he will—it’ll be nice to have time to himself. He honestly can’t remember the last time he took time for himself. He’s only recently discovered that training doesn’t really count as relaxation. Who would have guessed?

It’s been so long since he’s had time to himself that he… honestly doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he’ll go for a walk? Sit by the window and watch the world pass by. For once, the world feels endless, as if anything is possible.

“Well, that was cute.” Never mind.

Keith turns around and poignantly glares at the figure that stands behind him, their hands shoved into their pockets as they lean against the wall, one of their legs propped up casually. It’s clear they’ve been there a while.

“Like a deer running from a lion,” the person in question finishes.

Keith responds without turning around, his shoulders tight and posture rigid. “That’s just sad, Lotor.” It’s good to know he suddenly didn’t learn empathy in the two years since they’ve seen each other. Keith was always grateful that the prince regularly went to nearby kingdoms for ‘negotiations’. Though, everyone knows what that really means. Especially when Lotor returns with a significant number of ‘keen workers’.

“Well, I’ve always thought the two were remarkably similar,”

“What do you want, Lotor?”

Lotor keeps his ever-cocky grin and pushes himself away from the wall. There’s an aura of nonchalance about him. It’s clear he doesn’t care about the outcome of this conversation. “Now, now, that’s no way to speak to your master,” He chastises, his voice casual as if he was just commenting on the weather.

Something inside Keith snaps. He’s not angry or stuck in a blind rage as he would expect. Rather just empty, dull. Keith has to hold himself back as he turns harshly away from Lotor, his nails digging into his palm harshly. It’s been years since he’s had to call anyone that, with that name comes a tsunami of memories he’s tried his best to forget. Even though he knows he never will.

Lotor continues anyway, “No response? I can’t say I’m surprised. You always were a troublemaker.”

Keith holds himself back again, scrunching his eyes tightly as his hand’s fist at his side. “What do you want, Lotor?” Keith chokes out, every single ounce of his being screaming for him to stay in line. He shrinks backwards, forcing himself to be smaller and less threatening.

Years of taught behaviour flood back in an instant, his body acting in self-preservation. He bites his tongue and doesn’t speak out of turn; he bows stiffly, flinching as he does so. He doesn’t bow, his body falters, refusing to move down the rest of the way. It’s as if something is holding him back, a part of himself refusing to lapse back into his old mindset.

Lotor, however, seems satisfied. “Fantastic, maybe you’re not such a lost cause. It seems that your little boy toy hasn’t been able to replace what we have bred into you. You’re Galra, Keith.” Lotor smiles sweetly, his sharpened nail trailing across the flesh of Keith’s neck, just barely nipping the sensitive skin. “Nothing can change that.”

“Yes, Mas—“ Keith begins autonomously, but he catches himself before he can bring himself to say it. His eyes widen, and he straightens up, he stumbles backwards in shock, his mouth closed tightly. “No, this isn’t happening. I’m… not that person anymore,” Keith insists vehemently, determined and back in control.

“But you were so ready to submit, think about how easy it would be to come back home,” Lotor coos, his voice criminally smooth. His voice is as sweet as honey, yet Keith knows he could easily drown in his sweet amber tones. “Stop fighting your instincts, stop fighting your past. We spent years training to you be the perfect soldier, a little determination on your part will not change that.”

A part of him wants to give in. To drop to his knees as allow Lotor to do what he must. A part of him wants to stop the internal war that’s been raging for months on end and go back to when he understood where he belonged.

Keith feels one of his knees falter, almost buckling as he drops his head. He hates himself for missing the Galra, but Lotor represents temptation. The idea of his past, where the world at least made sense. He may not have had the best life, but at least he understood himself and his place in society, no matter how terrible that is.

Yet here he is, torn between two worlds. He’s drowning, he has been for a long time. He doesn’t know what the right choice is, he doesn’t know what the right choice is. Is there even a right choice anymore? Has there ever been one? He’s torn between the two halves of himself, each as loud as the other. Who he is, and who he wants to be.

How is he supposed to choose? How do you willingly destroy a part of yourself?

But… it would be so easy to just listen to Lotor. It would be so easy.

‘But, you’ve never taken the easy route, have you, Keith?’ His conscious whispers, an angel clinging to his back desperately holding him in place. All while Lotor continues to whisper taunts and promises. ‘Think about everything you’ve worked for. You can’t throw that away!’ His conscious pleads again, his own voice screaming in the back of his mind.

“I’ll give you some time to think on it,” Lotor whispers, his eyes flickering down away from Keith, their faces mere millimetres apart. “But know my patience won’t last forever. I’m leaving this castle something to show for, whether that’s you or the princess doesn’t really matter to me.” Lotor shrugs, walking away without another word. Keith watches as Lotor walks back to the slightly askew door. As he steps back into the castle, his hand trails across the oak surface. Suddenly he stops, as looks over at Keith over his shoulder. “Oh, and the princess is looking for you.” With that, he disappears.

Keith blinks blankly and drops to his knees without a single sound. His head hanging from his shoulders. A single tear slides down his cheek and drops onto the ground as if it never existed.

The picture-perfect sunrise suddenly feels a lot less beautiful.

\----------------

“Arms up, please.” Keith complies silently, too lost in thought to do much but mindless obey. There’s a tightening around his waist, cool fingers momentarily brushing against his exposed skin. The sensation is gone within an instant, the person below him mumbling a few numbers to themselves as they quickly jot them down on a nearby sheet of parchment.

Keith sighs and focuses back in on the surrounding conversation, “—so then, I told him I wanted pink floral arrangements, but he’s like ‘Nah, I’ve only got white flowers’,” Allura says, her hands flailing wildly as she leans back in her chair. “So, now nothing matches and it’s so annoying. Like, my parents always had pink flowers, so why can’t I??”

“Princess, with all due respect, why are you trying to emulate your parents?” Keith says, trying to ignore the tailor as they drape the cloth over his torso, muttering to themselves as they compare fabrics. “I mean, they’re just flowers, surely it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“Well, my mother always threw the most extravagant of balls. She accounted for everything and it showed, it was the talk of the town for months.  I… want to do her proud,” Allura pauses and looks away thoughtfully, “Not to mention this is important for forming and maintaining alliances.”

“Alliances?”

“Yeah, alliances between the local kingdoms. It’s mostly just trading agreements and boring stuff like that… but, this year it’s a little different. I’m sure you’ve heard about that Galra.”

Keith flinches and gulps, “U-uh, yeah. I’ve heard… rumours.”

“Well, the leader of the Galra–Emperor Zarkon—has been trying to gain control of the surrounding kingdoms for years, mine included. His son, Lotor, is the man that arrived a few days ago.” Keith bites his tongue and allows her to continue, trying to ignore the twisting in his gut. “Lotor’s the next in line for the throne, and based on how Zarkon’s health is on a downward spiral, it’s only a matter of time until he ascends to the throne.”

“Are you sure you can trust him, princess?”

“No, I’m not. But, in times like this, you can’t really be sure of anyone,” Allura says, her eyes focused on the ground. “I think it’s worth the gamble. The Galra have been getting more and more aggressive as of late, if I can organise something with Lotor, I can secure the safety of the kingdom. Sure, it’s putting me in a venerable position, but, my people come first. No matter what.”

“That’s very noble of you, Allura.”

“It’s what any leader would do, I’m merely looking out for my citizens.”  

“Don’t sell yourself so short. Few people would readily put themselves in harm’s way to protect their citizens. Most of which are complete strangers.”

Allura smiles, it’s a little forced, but it’s still sincere, “I guess you’re right,” she says, her voice quiet and expression thoughtful. “Thank you, Keith.”

“You’re welcome, princess.”

“Regardless, I love my kingdom and I’d do anything to keep my people safe.”

Keith pauses, his eyes trailing down to the tailor as they mumble to themselves and walk away from Keith, clearly not paying attention to anything that’s happening around them. He mauls over the same word, the same phrase, time and time again. Love.

It’s crazy how one word has been his downfall, this entire time, that’s all he could think about. Even now.

Lines blur further each day, yet, he’s stopped caring. Friend and lover, enemy and friend, acquaintance and ally. Nothing makes sense, nothing is as black and white as it used to be. Everything is a murky, disgusting shade of grey, the good and the bad of each person mixed until the two are almost indistinguishable.

“How…” Keith starts, his voice failing him as his eyes remain downcast, the cogs in his brain whirring methodically. “How do you know if you love something?” He finishes, the subtle cracks in his voice giving him away entirely.

“Something… or someone?” Allura says, feigning innocence as her eyes flicker knowingly.

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course there is! Love comes in many forms. It’s quite the extraordinary force of nature.” Allura sighs and leans back in her chair, her expression melting into something fondly calm, brimming with nostalgia. “Love makes people mad. It drives each and every one of us to the brink of insanity, yet we always come back for more. I’ve never been able to understand it, really.”

“Have you been in love?”

“Yes,” Allura answers with no hesitation. “But, hasn’t everyone?” Noticing Keith’s confused look, she continues. “Well, everyone has some form of love in their life, whether or not they’d like to admit it. There’s the platonic adoration between friends, familial love between parents and their children and – well, of course, there’s romantic love.” She sends a poignant look in his direction momentarily, her eyes flickering yet again.

“I understand that much,” Keith sighs, “but how do you know. How am I supposed to know if I feel… anything—” for a moment, Keith feels as if he should stop there. It’d be fitting, given his circumstance. –“for someone? H-how do I know that I’m in love?”

With the alarm bells going off inside of his mind, Keith almost didn’t notice the tailor muttering something about ‘returning with the finished garments in the evening,’ before promptly heading out the door, rolls of fabric bundled in their arms. He watches as the door swings open and slams roughly on its hinges, rattling the doorframe as it does so.

Keith looks back at Allura when he hears her purposely clear her throat, he meets her eyes; she maintains eye contact, her gaze burning into his skin. “You just know,” Allura says, adding nothing more as her eyes finally fall away to the window across from them.

“Pardon?”

“There’s no test you can take to prove that you love someone, it’s just a gut feeling. Nothing can make love appear or disappear, it doesn’t work that way. You’ll just know.”

“What if I don’t?” Keith says. “Or at least, don’t know yet.”

“Then you will. When the moment is right—” Allura looks away from the window, her eyes landing on his “-- you’ll just know.”

Will he? He’s… not too sure. He can’t really imagine feeling something, is it even possible to feel something without thinking about it first? Keith controls his emotions, not the other way around, that’s how it’s always been.

The idea that something is growing inside him, something he can’t control terrifies him.

The idea that he’s falling in love terrifies.

The idea that he’s already fallen in love terrifies him.

Yet, something about the situation seems oddly alluring, like forbidden fruit. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way, nor should he like it—but that’s probably why it’s so addicting. It’s his own form of rebellion.

Maybe it’s not love that’s so addicting, but Lance. It’d make sense. Everything about him draws Keith back time and time again. Lance is a drug and Keith is a helpless addict, indulging in his habit day after day, even if he can feel it slowly tearing his life apart.

Is that why Allura protects her kingdom to the end? Why she comes back time and time again, no matter how many times it shows itself to bring nothing but tragedy a pain? Why she rules fearlessly even if the possibility of her meeting the same fate as her parents grows stronger with each passing day, with each new alliance?

This happens every time he tries to wrap his mind around what’s going on. One question sprouts a million more.

Keith sighs and collapses on the felt couch behind him, the sound of Allura’s laugher falling flat in his ears. In the end, if love is really so wrong, then why does it feel so good?

\----------------

Keith stands in front of the full body mirror, meticulously adjusting his shirt. “This doesn’t look right…” he trails off, shifting back and forth as he turns in front of the mirror. He can’t tell if he’s self-conscious or just awkward. It’s probably a mixture of both

“Does it fit?” Allura calls out from behind the curtain.

Keith sighs and runs his hands across his stomach, “I guess?” He sighs and glances over himself yet again. “It doesn’t really feel right, I don’t know. It’s a lot more formal than I’m used to.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, are you decent enough for me to come in?” Keith double checks himself and runs his fingers over the tightly buttoned tunic.

“Yeah, you’re all good.” Allura pushes the curtain aside without hesitation, stepping into the small room, the curtain falling closed behind her.

“Oh. My. God!” Allura looks at Keith in the mirror, the two of them making eye contact as her gaze drifts up and down his figure tracing the patterns of the outfit.

“That bad?” Keith sighs, running his fingers across his torso.

“No, Keith! It’s perfect! I have to say, Maurice outdid himself this time. Truly his turned a peasant into a prince.”

“Hey!” Keith turns away from the mirror with a loud shout, glaring at Allura, even if his heart isn’t really in it. He’s smiling, he can tell.

“I’m just teasing,” she giggles, waving him off. “You’ll always be a prince in my eyes,” she drawls, throwing her arms around him. Knowing full well how much Keith open displays of affection—Lance may be the exception in that case, but let’s not talk about that.

“Okay, no need to go that far,” he laughs, prying her arms off him, which surprisingly is difficult—turns out she’s a lot stronger than she looks.

Keith slides his hand over the red embroidered vest, clicking his tongue as his eyes trail over the plain black tunic sleeves. The pattern abruptly ends as the vest does, the ends hemmed tightly as if someone ripped the fabric into two. Though, it wouldn’t make much sense for the tailor to

The embroidered pattern, a thick golden thread lace, gives the appearance as if someone sowed strands of gold into the garment. As Keith shifts back and forth, he watches as the vest glimmers in the light, the golden threads shining brightly against the matte red fabric.

“I mean, I do like it, it only that… it doesn’t feel complete?” He can’t quite place his finger on it. Something just feels off, like something missing. Like a missing puzzle piece or a loose cog in a machine.

Allura smirks wickedly as if that was the very thing she was waiting for. “Oh, trust me, it’ll be complete soon.” That’s so ominous, what the fuck. “But don’t worry, you’ll find out tomorrow.”

“If this is how you plan on convincing me to enjoy the ball, I’m going to stop you right there.” Keith sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s not my thing, you know that. The only reason I’m going to be there is for Lance. He wants to go, and you want me to go with him, it’s as simple as that.”

“Nothing’s ever that simple.”

“In this case, it is,” Keith snaps, his eyes widening as his voice echoes through the room. He didn’t mean to yell like that. He turns around silently, facing the mirror again. He watches Allura’s expression through the mirror, her arms crossed as she quirks a brow, not too surprised by his outburst.

“Sure thing, Keith.” She turns around with a flourish, pulling the curtain aside enough for her to step out. “Now, I must go oversee the final preparations, I trust that you’ll be able to find your way back unassisted?”.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Keith responds dully, still refusing to avoid eye contact.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll see you later,” Allura says, her tone flat with confusion written on her face. She turns away and walks towards the large oak doors, hands tucked neatly behind her. Keith steps forward, pushing the curtain aside before letting it falls closed behind him.

“Allura!” Keith calls out without thinking, his hand frozen where he grips her loose dress sleeve. She turns around within an instant, her eyes flicking between Keith and her occupied hand.  “I – Um!” He stammers, retracting his hand in a flash, stumbling backwards frantically.

“Yes?” She says, her hand still extended in front of her where Keith had pulled her back.

“I—uh — I know I act like a self-centred asshole most of the time, and I can’t really change that because that’s who I am… but I just wanted to say.” Keith looks up from the ground and meets Allura’s eyes, all words dying in his throat.

Allura tilts her head to the side, her hair falling around her face as she looks at him with unabashed intrigue. She smiles softly, silently prompting Keith to continue.

“I—I just wanted to say that…” He tries again, failing to find the words. His heart rate spikes, slamming violently against his chest as he stares at her.

He can’t get the anything out.

He can’t breathe.

Everything suddenly feels too tight.

Was his shirt always so small?

The words claw desperately and dig their nails into his throat, refusing to budge an inch. He opens his mouth, yet nothing comes out.

“That I…” He still can’t get the words out, his body refusing to cooperate as he stands there dumbfounded. He repeats the same phrase like the rhythmic squawks of the birds that rouse him each morning. He’s never been good with words, he’s always let his actions speak for themselves. He can’t articulate what he’s feeling… how do you explain a feeling?

 _“You just know.”_ Allura’s voice echoes in his head, warped and broken, a poor imitation of the girl that stands in front of him, still listening intently.

“You just know,” Keith whispers under his breath, finally gaining clarity. He takes a deep breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, letting the anxiety wash away. He slowly steps forward, confident in his actions.

He nods to himself and forces himself to do what he does best—act without thought. Keith wraps his arms around Allura, burring his face in her neck as he holds her close, his eyes scrunching tightly closed. Allura stiffens under his grip, inhaling sharply. He smiles into her neck, at least he can say he threw the princess of her game once.

“You’ve done a lot for me and I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I’ve never said anything, I’m just not great with these things.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learnt to read you over these past months, you don’t need to explicitly say anything. You’re a lot worse at hiding your emotions than you think you are.”

“Right,” Keith says, stepping away with an awkward smile. He slowly pats her shoulder and glances around, “I’ll uh – let you go then?”

“That would be appreciated,” Allura says with a grin.

“I’ll just let go of you know.” Allura badly disguises her laugh and coughs into her hand, nodding sharply with a faux look of professionalism. Keith slowly retracts his hands, taking far longer than needed. He steps back, entirely positive that the blush on his face rivals that of his vest. “Uh – good talk.” Seemingly to add to his growing humiliation, Keith shoots her a pair of finger guns and simultaneously wishes for the earth to split in half and swallow him whole.

Allura laughs and pities him, mirroring his movements exactly as she clicks and points at him. “Indeed, I’ll see you in time for the ball tomorrow.”  With that she gives him one final wave and exits the room, leaving the oaken doors askew behind her. He can still hear her laughter echoing down the hall.

Keith rub his temple and exhales, cursing at himself, “Why are you like this? Why can’t you hug someone like a normal person,” he mumbles, making his way back to the dressing room. He carefully folds each garment and changes back into his everyday clothes, grimacing as the ill-fitting fabric hangs uncomfortably from him yet again. The off-white, deeply stained tunic somehow being both all too tight and loose at the same time. He folds the vest and slacks over his forearm, brushing out any creases as he does so.

Keith quickly runs a hand through his hair, fixing up what he can before turning away from the mirror, turning the prince back into a peasant. He leaves the room, a warm, all-consuming feeling in his chest and a smile on his face.

\----------

Today’s the day… Or, well, tonight the night.

Look, basically, the ball is happening right this second.

Laughter and music echo through the empty halls, the soft orange glow of candlelight pouring out windows and under cracks in doors. A growing sense of isolation falls over the castle, cold, dark loneliness seeping in through the darkened, abandoned rooms. If it wasn’t for the constant laughter, one would assume that every person who once called this castle home had up and left.

Rather, all the staff are preoccupied, most finding themselves waiting on guests or keeping everything running smoothly. Carriage after carriage pulls into the driveway of the castle, the horses trotting in circular patterns around the decorative gardens and fountains. Keith watches everything from the safety of his room, staring down with intrigue.

Guards are stationed at each entrance, greeting the guests as they arrive in hoards. The women arrive in luxurious ballgowns, their hair towering towards the sky, their face caked in thick layers of makeup and even carrying matching parasols that they delicately balance on their shoulder.

Keith can’t for the life of him understand why people are carrying parasols with them after dark, but such is the upper class.

The men arrive in similarly high-quality tuxedos and waistcoats; the majority matching their respective dates. Each man carries a rose that’s neatly tucked into the breast pocket, the pink petals glowing again the dark shades of fabric.

A few faces are familiar, not familiar enough to where Keith could place where he saw the first—or god forbid know their name—but enough to have that instinctual pull in his gut of ‘Hey, I recognize that face.’ Or ‘Man, that mole sure looks familiar.’

He repeatedly glances between himself and the guests that filter in through the main entrances, feeling significantly underdressed. He sighs and turns away from the window, making his way towards the ball—he can’t put this off for much longer, Allura is expecting him.

“Are you coming tonight, babe?” Keith remembers Lance asking the second he got home, he smiles fondly at the thought.

“No, it’s not really my scene, I’ll probably just sleep through it,” He had lied with a shrug, his eyes flitting to the formal attire he had hidden not three hours earlier.

The closer Keith draws to the ballroom, the louder the music grows. He’s not too sure how he’ll avoid Lance, or god forbid explain that he’s showing up to the ball not to surprise him but to appease Allura.

Hopefully, if he sticks to the sides of the room, he’ll be able to slip through the whole night unseen. It’s not like he’s got the flashiest outfit there, either way, he’s never really been one draw attention—that’ll be Lance tonight.

Still, watching his boyfriend—that still feels surreal—dancing the night away sounds awfully appealing. If Lance is enjoying himself, then that’s really all he needs. He’d rather just silently watch and observe than actively take part.

Though, he’ll have to stop by and thank Allura for letting him sneak in through one of the back doors into the ball, rather than the main entrance where everyone enters whilst getting their name announced to the growing crowd.

He soon finds himself by the entrance, a single flight of stairs above the main entrance. It’s out of the way, winding halls and narrow passages leading to the secluded entrance. He can hear the band inside playing their heart out.

Allura had told him it’s one of the old and now unused servant passages, from a time when staff weren’t permitted to walk in the same halls as the royal family. It’d explain why he’s never seen the doors before.

Though, he can’t help but wonder why Lance would never show him this obvious shortcut through the castle.

Keith traces his fingers across the wood, squinting suspiciously as he rubs a thick layer of dust off the doorway. Underneath the door is painted a deep ivory, pink and purple flowers covering the door with, green vines interlaced underneath the flora. It seems all too intricate to be nothing but a simple servant passage. It’s clear it’s been a while since anyone’s used it, so who’s he to make those judgements.

He runs his fingers through his hair one final time, double checking his outfit before he steps into the ball. Hopefully, no one will see him anyway, but it’s always good to be prepared.

With a quiet sigh, a deep breath and a shaky hand, Keith slowly pushes the doors open, flinching as the bright light of the ballroom floods into the darkened hallway. The hinges squeal as he pushes it open, cutting through the swelling jazz like a hot knife through butter. He’s still blinded, unsure if anyone’s noticed his entrance. He can only hope that the guests assumed it was the castle creaking with its age.

When his eyes finally adjust, he almost collapses on the spot.

He’s not standing by a secluded, unused entrance. Rather, at the top of a marble staircase surrounded by candles and rose petals—because, of course he would be.

A thousand eyes burn into him as whispers echo through the room, people splitting off into smaller groups as they talk amongst themselves. It’s an incomprehensible sea of murmurs, the only thing Keith is sure of is that they’re all talking about him. The band seems to finally get a grip on themselves and picks up where they abruptly left off, gently guiding the guests to return to dancing the night away.

Allura sits on the other side of the room, poised elegantly on her throne, with her gloved hand clasped around a small glass of wine. She smirks, raising her glass to him before taking one long sip, having planned the whole thing. Lance stands beside her, jaw practically on the floor as his eyes frantically flit up and down Keith’s form, not understanding the sight in front of him.

And with that, his plans for a quiet and unassuming night fly out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID Y'ALL KNOW THAT REN IS DOING AN INSTAGRAM COMIC NOW?! BECAUSE THEY ARE AND IT'S **AMAZING!!!**  
>  Feel free to ingore me rambing about them, but seriously, go check it out!! It's really good and I can't wait to see where they're going with the universe they've built.  
> Basically if you're a fan of any of their work, you'll love this! [Here's the link, please go support them!](https://www.instagram.com/fairytaleklance/?hl=en)
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> \------And here are our usual links ------  
> Here's [My Tumblr](https://theaviandragon.tumblr.com/) (Author). I'm always looking for more people to talk to and generally get to know, so hit me up! (Plus I've got some bonus stories/requests over there)
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> And here is [Ren's Tumblr](https://inspiration-rain.tumblr.com/) (Editor, Artist). They're always doing amazing stuff over there and generally being an awesome human.


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